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chip the black boy – a dangerous line of questioning lyrics

(“do you know somebody of questionable racial identity?”)

am i fated to be an instrument of hatred?
unwittingly propagating colonization, appropriating language
imposing regulations, confiscating sacred grounds
unbound by the moral consideration or sp+cial location
saturating the zeitgeist with genocidal ideation?

do i confuse love and bloodust?
am i constructing a framework of spider webs and dust?
is the pouch i clutch of full of fool’s gold and wishes?
is it stained, should i ditch it?
should i bury it in sand, toss in the mire?
or cover it with the gas and set it on fire?

am i gyre+spiraling out of control?
am i senselessly summoning a sucking black hole?
is the torque of the whirling wind which i whisper the forcе that will break my cabin into splinters?

what is it to disintegratе?
is it death?
does an essence remain in the absence of breath?
are we racing?
chasing?
are we escaping?
can it be constructive to break things?
(“do you know somebody of questionable racial identity?”)
(“if you find an ahistorical individual, you’ve found someone who is a fool dangling.”)

am i making massive mastiffs of mole mounds, or the other way around?
am i breeding a h+llhound bound for blood?
am i muddying the purity of royalty of beckoning a flood?
am i a mongrel mut doggy paddling up the wrong stream?
is life but a cauldron of solvent steaming, scalding, blanching devolving?
if i end it now, will i be absolved of all things?

hate crimes, incitations, treaties broken, bones buried
wounds opened, curses spoken, slurs, bad words and omens
countrymen, romans
show me moldy shozenji procession
dressing in the guise of julius, the cruelest brutalities i reenact
tragic black magic hat, tricks of enchantment, i am a stand+in understudy, on stage above a crowd outraged, i play the role of the headsman
the dead man pleading cannot be heard for the scourge of the parched togues thirsting for the purge
i’m paid to bring down the blade on the neck of the knave
as defined by the language of angels, by which is stitched a tapestry star+spangled from which i strangle and dangle

(“am”)
(“i”)
(“racist?”)
(“do you know someone of questionable racial identity? a neighbor? someone at work? contact the police of racial identity…”)

- chip the black boy lyrics

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