The Oprah Winfrey Show

We’ll make our way out
I’m confident
We’ll make our way out
We’ll make our way out
I know, I know
We’ll make our way out
We’ll make our way out
Fuck you is not the code word
I’m the idiot who mistook topaz for sulfur
My nose hurts, my soul hurts
In the combination den dungeon dojo
With seven dumb bozos
And several servings of porridge
New sign on my garage reads «Dead Nigger Storage»
Did you see that?
I imagine myself saying on the Oprah Winfrey Show
That life is hopeless and finicky
It’s morbid and limiting to be constantly absorbing their energy
Translating context
This is a pamphlet explaining the uselessness of the rap song’s conquest
Your measurements seem prophetic
I interjected
They mistook my rhetoric for poetics
I never knew that I cried in my sleep
I only knew that I was crying in my dreams
I never knew that I was crying in my sleep
I only knew that I cried in my dreams
We’ll make our way out
We’ll make our way out
We’ll make our way out
I’m confident