Dear God,
It's hot outside.
It's hot and heaven ain't shedin' tears like it used to,
and I think it's because the King of Love is dead.
He died when the ground was damp--
they killed him because he believed in that shit,
and we believed him when he said,
"Hate cannot drive out hate,
only love can do that."
Goddamn, everyone knows about Memphis.
Dear God,
It's hot outside.
It's hot because the Sun ain't nonviolent.
I keep trying to rally prayers for rain,
but it don't work.
So instead, I'm beggin' you--
beggin' you to reign the Sun in,
or let 'em step up off heaven's stoop to fight me.
I got Detroit Red in my ear, yelling,
"We are only nonviolent
with people who are nonviolent with us."
Goddamn, everyone knows about Manhattan,
and Goddammit, they know about Chicago too.
What about next time?
Dear God,
It's still hot outside.
It's hot and there's no more water--
like my Medea used to sing--
no more water,
and these times got me so upset
with this janky concept of freedom.
Right and wrong seem so black and white,
yet so white and black in practice.
They abandoned you.
I knew they abandoned you when I read
that they were burning crosses to make statements.
Well, what will they burn next time?
Dear God,
We started burning courts and police buildings.
To make statements:
Because everyone knows about Minneapolis.
It's hotter outside, and now the earth is parched--
no more water.
I'll die here next time
before all they get is a witness.