We blame the wolf for the blood on the floor.
But who left the latch off the family door?
Thomas sat with a friend in the room.
He didn’t know he was dining with his doom.
The coin was silver, the kiss was cold.
For a seat at the table, the vision was sold.
The worst kind of war a soldier can fight
Is when his own army attacks in the night.

The stranger stood outside the gate with the gun.
But the door was opened by the trusted one.
You say, “The White Man came and took it all.”
But the Black Man whispered which giant should fall.

Not every Skin is Kin!
They smile in your face, but they let the devil in!
They ride with you now, but they cut you in the end!
The Iron cannot cut the Tree…
(No, No!)
Until the Wood agrees.
(No, No!)
Don’t look at the Wolf, look at the Pack.
The deepest knife is the one in your Back.

Patrice was screaming in the back of the car.
While the people he fought for watched from afar.
Sankara is gone. Lumumba is dust.
Killed by the weapon of “Family Trust.”
We cheer for the tyrant who tosses us bread.
And stone the prophet who wakes up the dead.

You hate the reflection you see in the glass.
So you let the armies of the enemy pass.
Self-Hate is the gatekeeper, standing so tall.
Begging the outsider to conquer us all.

Not every Skin is Kin!
They smile in your face, but they let the devil in!
They ride with you now, but they cut you in the end!
The Iron cannot cut the Tree…
(No, No!)
Until the Wood agrees.
(No, No!)
Don’t look at the Wolf, look at the Pack.
The deepest knife is the one in your Back.