Anthem of the Unchosen: Turn VI (Remastered)

[Turn VI: The Monument of Names]
[echoes from the past]
...hallowed...

[Intro – Names Like Monuments]
Some carved in marble.
Some inked in protest signs.
Some known only to the wind—
but still sacred.
Still seen.
Still standing.

Let this turn not be a song—
but a monument.
A chorus of names
they tried to bury
beneath headlines and hashtags.

They did not vanish.
They became verses.

[Verse – Roll Call of the Risen]
Matthew Shepard—
gentle, bright, and gay.
Tied to a fence,
but not to silence.

Breonna Taylor—
asleep in her home,
but her name
never rested.

George Floyd—
knee to neck.
But the breath he couldn’t take
became thunder.

Tony McDade—
Black. Trans.
Killed by police.
Misgendered by the press.
Honored by us.

Dominique Rem’mie Fells.
Riah Milton.
Layleen Polanco Xtravaganza.
All Black. All trans.
All taken.

Kaysera Stops Pretty Places.
Savanna Greywind.
Ashlynne Mike.
Murdered and missing Indigenous women,
girls, and two-spirits.
They lit the sky
with their absence.

Emmett Till—
not just a boy,
but a bell toll
we still hear.
Whistled into legend,
beaten into a warning.
His mother opened the casket—
and the lie.

Sandra Bland.
Tamir Rice.
Philando Castile.
Tatiana Jefferson.
Muhlaysia Booker.
Islan Nettles.
Clementa Pinckney.
Ahmaud Arbery.
Daunte Wright.
Botham Jean.

They died unjustly—
but their names now walk beside us,
leading chants,
lifting candles.

[Bridge – What Cannot Be Killed]
You can bury a name,
but not a movement.
You can silence a scream,
but not the echo.

They fought with voices,
with presence,
with being
exactly who they were—
without apology.

We carry them now.
Not in grief—
in power.

[Chorus – Monuments, Not Martyrs]
We do not mourn.
We memorialize.
We do not whisper.
We wail.
We name them all—
because their stories
are the mortar
of our resistance.

Each syllable—
a brick.
Each beat—
a rising wall
against forgetting.

[Outro – The Monument Stands]
They tried to erase us.
Instead,
we became the authors.

They tried to scatter us.
Instead,
we formed a choir.

This is the monument.
Not granite.
Not bronze.
But breath.

We are the unchosen—
and we choose
to remember
those
they could never silence.

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[Turn VI: The Monument of Names] [echoes from the past] ...hallowed... [Intro – Names Like Monuments] Some carved in marble. Some inked in protest signs. Some known only to the wind— but still sacred. Still seen. Still standing. Let this turn not be a song— but a monument. A chorus of names they tried to bury beneath headlines and hashtags. They did not vanish. They became verses. [Verse – Roll Call of the Risen] Matthew Shepard— gentle, bright, and gay. Tied to a fence, but not to silence. Breonna Taylor— asleep in her home, but her name never rested. George Floyd— knee to neck. But the breath he couldn’t take became thunder. Tony McDade— Black. Trans. Killed by police. Misgendered by the press. Honored by us. Dominique Rem’mie Fells. Riah Milton. Layleen Polanco Xtravaganza. All Black. All trans. All taken. Kaysera Stops Pretty Places. Savanna Greywind. Ashlynne Mike. Murdered and missing Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirits. They lit the sky with their absence. Emmett Till— not just a boy, but a bell toll we still hear. Whistled into legend, beaten into a warning. His mother opened the casket— and the lie. Sandra Bland. Tamir Rice. Philando Castile. Tatiana Jefferson. Muhlaysia Booker. Islan Nettles. Clementa Pinckney. Ahmaud Arbery. Daunte Wright. Botham Jean. They died unjustly— but their names now walk beside us, leading chants, lifting candles. [Bridge – What Cannot Be Killed] You can bury a name, but not a movement. You can silence a scream, but not the echo. They fought with voices, with presence, with being exactly who they were— without apology. We carry them now. Not in grief— in power. [Chorus – Monuments, Not Martyrs] We do not mourn. We memorialize. We do not whisper. We wail. We name them all— because their stories are the mortar of our resistance. Each syllable— a brick. Each beat— a rising wall against forgetting. [Outro – The Monument Stands] They tried to erase us. Instead, we became the authors. They tried to scatter us. Instead, we formed a choir. This is the monument. Not granite. Not bronze. But breath. We are the unchosen— and we choose to remember those they could never silence.

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