Lyrics:

There are a lot of comments about who's blacker than you are, and who's blacker than she is, blacker than thou
In other words, it's a sort of trend
And, in looking on various street corners in Harlem
Who covers themselves with the light
As if it were a garment?
Who makes the angel's spirit
From the flames of the fire?
Laid the foundation of the earth
So that it shall not be moved
Covered it with the deep of the ocean
Who stands above the mountains
And at your word, they fled
They hastened away
Send the springs into the valley
That flow through the hills
And give drink to the beasts of the field
And quench their thirst
By you the birds of the heavens
Have their home
And sing amongst the branches
The earth is satisfied by the fruit of your works
Cause the grass to grow for the cattle
And the vegetation
For the service of the human
So that they bring forth the fruit from the earth
The wine that makes glad the heart of man
And oil that makes his face shine
The wine that makes glad the heart of man
And oil that makes his face shine

Makes the face shine
I like to watch the leaves fall, last breath
Sweet ash from the slash and burn
And lazy eyes from being in a dream
Talk to the trees
Please, me, see, be, free
Heed, believe, see, breath
Need and want nothing
I need and want nothing
Dry roses hang from the bed
Nakedness is all around
Barren is my soul
I beg to be a child born for Love
So i sway to the pulses of the rivers of blood
That flow through my body
'cause I believe in things you cannot see
To some god is the light
That leads them to believe
That they see
And know everything
To some god is the light
That leads them to believe
That they see
And know everything
But if one is to truly be born again
You would have to gouge out your eyes
Cut out your tongue
And grieve
And cry like a baby that's been snatched away
Cry like a baby that's been snatched away
Sister, cry like a baby that's been snatched away
Brother, cry like a baby that's been snatched away
To some, god is the light
That leads them to believe that they see
And know everything
I sway to the pulses of the rivers of blood
That flow through my body
'cause i believe in things
That you cannot see

I believe in things that I cannot see
To some, god is the light
That leads them to believe that they see
And know everything

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures
47 black faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grandfathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews
They stare across the space at me, sprawling on my bunk
I know their dark eyes, they know mine
I know their style, they know mine
I am all of them, they are all of me;
They are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee
I have at one time or another been in love with my mother
1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum)
And 5 cousins
I am now in love with a 7-year-old niece
She sends me letters in large block print, and her picture is the only one that smiles at me
I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews, and 1 uncle
The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took off and caught a freight (they say)
He's discussed each year when the family has a reunion
He causes uneasiness in the clan, he is an empty space
My father's mother, who is 93
And who keeps the Family Bible with everybody's birth dates (and death dates) in it, always mentions him
There is no place in her Bible for 'whereabouts unknown.'

Each fall, the graves of my grandfathers call me
The brown hills and red gullies of Mississippi
Send out their electric messages, galvanizing my genes
Last year, like a salmon quitting
The cold ocean-leaping and bucking up his birth stream
I hitchhiked my way from LA with 16 caps in my pocket and a monkey on my back
And I almost kicked it with the kinfolks
I walked barefoot in my grandmother's backyard
I smelled the old land and the woods
I sipped corn whiskey from fruit jars with the men
I flirted with the women
I had a ball till the caps ran out
And my habit came down
That night, I looked at my grandmother and split
My guts were screaming for junk, but I was almost content
I had almost caught up with me
(The next day in Memphis, I cracked a croaker's crib for a fix.)
This year, there is a gray stone wall damming my stream
And when the falling leaves stir my genes
I pace my cell, or flop on my bunk
And stare at 47 black faces across the space
I am all of them
They are all of me
I am me
They are thee
And I have no children to float in the space between