I am the stone that the building refused, I am the visual,
The inspiration that made ladies sing the blues.
I’m the spark that makes ya idea bright,
The same spark that lights the dark
So that you can know ya left from ya right.
I am the ballot in ya box, the bullet in the gun,
That inner glow that lets you know to call ya brotha “son.”
The story that just begun, the promise of what’s to come,
And I’m a remain a soldier ‘til the war is won.
