My desires have fallen victim to my pauses
As my promises will fall a victim to my breath
Yet as twilight forms a victim to the morning
My life shall never become a victim of my death
Who is the oppressor
And who are the oppressed?
Who controls the mould that traps our souls
For he who rolls the dice
Holds the keys to treasure's chest
Freedom can sail in on a half-shell
But does it ride the wave of a crest?
The full moon forms a cocoon
So we delightfully dance to the tunes
Played by somebody else
You see everybody knows
That on the streets you rule
You're hoodied up to self-destruct
But yet you look so cool
You make others love to copy every move you do
But your plight keeps them amused
Because you act the fool
But in the company board rooms
We never see your face there
Why die for post codes
That you don't own because, bruv
Nobody cares
The only slang this world understands
Is about the juice you got to spare
To buy the bricks between the mortar
Or the land beneath the air
Only effective journeys are worth repeating
And only reflective fables are worth rereading
For a story can never be told
In the same way twice
And different generations each remould
An old excuse to give it life
But can we honestly claim
To be a victim all the time?
Is our sickness fully owned
By the man who holds the dice?
So, who is the oppressor
And who are the oppressed?
Its the thinking of remaining a victim
In this life
That brings you death