Bleed my black

“A pound of flesh,” you insist,

Isn’t it? Thou shalt have it sir.

Chop off my hinds first, will you?

Well, amuse yourself officer.

Let loose your hounds of havoc, and

Wreck my sack of ghetto bones.

Bleed me out of my misery.

Immolate my remains too, will you?

Well, have it your own damned way!

Still, all there shall ever be is black.