How many times must a son cry for his momma
How many times must we hear that someone can’t breathe
How many times must we march in the streets and beg for reform
How many times must we have the talk with our children
How many times must we clinch the steering wheel when see a car that could send us to our cooling board
How many times must we ask where are all the good ones
How many times must we wipe the tears of a grieving mother and father
How many times must we hear “he should have complied”
How many times must our blood pool in th streets
What will it take to remove the target that is on us
One many is too many
We are tired
Lord comfort your children of the Diaspora
We are tired
We’ve been weeping in Babylon for too long
