Anthem of the Unchosen: Turn IV (Remastered)

[Turn IV: Bloodlines & Backbones]
[whispers beneath the roots]
…inherited…

[Verse – The Bones We Bury]
You say forget the past—
but the past ain’t buried.
It’s under your schools,
your shopping malls,
your presidential libraries.

The bones we bury
still whisper.
They don’t rest
just because you paved them over.
They rattle—
every time you pledge allegiance
with a grin.

My grandmother’s hands
held corn, not rosaries.
My grandfather’s scars
spelled freedom
in a tongue your textbooks forgot.

You claim we are born free.
But some of us were born
with chains braided into our umbilical cords.

[Spoken Interlude – The Family Tree Wasn’t Broken, It Was Beaten]
Lineage isn’t lost.
It’s looted.
Burned in the name of civility.
Renamed by the census.
Silenced by shame.

But we still hear the lullabies
humming through blood.
The ones that don’t fit your scale—
but carry entire histories
in a single note.

[Verse – The Fathers They Don’t Name]
You talk about founding fathers.
We talk about the ones
who were never allowed
to be fathers.
Who were sold.
Sterilized.
Caged.

Who raised nations
with no legacy allowed.
Who built empires
and couldn’t pass their names down.

You praise bloodlines.
But only when they trace back
to powdered wigs
and property deeds.

Our bloodline bled
for the Constitution
but couldn’t vote beneath it.

[Bridge – Names Carved in Stone]
The headstones don’t lie.
The treaties do.

We kept records
in callused palms.
In recipes, in songs,
in names whispered
into sleeping children.

We didn’t vanish.
We were written in script
you refused to read.

[Chorus – We Are the Backbones]
We are the backbones
of broken nations.
The ribs they played
like xylophones
in boarding schools
and war zones.

We are names
you couldn’t pronounce
so you changed them.

We are the ones
you tried to write out—
and failed.

Because the pen may be mightier,
but our memory?
Is immortal.

And your paper cuts
can’t silence
what’s carved into soul.

[Outro – Say Our Bloodlines]
Say our names.
Not just the ones
you gentrified into street signs.

Say the ones
that never got a funeral.
The ones
that were hummed,
not spoken—
for safety.

Say the names
of the enslaved
who never got surnames.

Say the names
of the languages
you made illegal.

Say the names
you tried to bury
in footnotes.

Because the footnotes
are rising now.
And baby—
they brought receipts.

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[Turn IV: Bloodlines & Backbones] [whispers beneath the roots] …inherited… [Verse – The Bones We Bury] You say forget the past— but the past ain’t buried. It’s under your schools, your shopping malls, your presidential libraries. The bones we bury still whisper. They don’t rest just because you paved them over. They rattle— every time you pledge allegiance with a grin. My grandmother’s hands held corn, not rosaries. My grandfather’s scars spelled freedom in a tongue your textbooks forgot. You claim we are born free. But some of us were born with chains braided into our umbilical cords. [Spoken Interlude – The Family Tree Wasn’t Broken, It Was Beaten] Lineage isn’t lost. It’s looted. Burned in the name of civility. Renamed by the census. Silenced by shame. But we still hear the lullabies humming through blood. The ones that don’t fit your scale— but carry entire histories in a single note. [Verse – The Fathers They Don’t Name] You talk about founding fathers. We talk about the ones who were never allowed to be fathers. Who were sold. Sterilized. Caged. Who raised nations with no legacy allowed. Who built empires and couldn’t pass their names down. You praise bloodlines. But only when they trace back to powdered wigs and property deeds. Our bloodline bled for the Constitution but couldn’t vote beneath it. [Bridge – Names Carved in Stone] The headstones don’t lie. The treaties do. We kept records in callused palms. In recipes, in songs, in names whispered into sleeping children. We didn’t vanish. We were written in script you refused to read. [Chorus – We Are the Backbones] We are the backbones of broken nations. The ribs they played like xylophones in boarding schools and war zones. We are names you couldn’t pronounce so you changed them. We are the ones you tried to write out— and failed. Because the pen may be mightier, but our memory? Is immortal. And your paper cuts can’t silence what’s carved into soul. [Outro – Say Our Bloodlines] Say our names. Not just the ones you gentrified into street signs. Say the ones that never got a funeral. The ones that were hummed, not spoken— for safety. Say the names of the enslaved who never got surnames. Say the names of the languages you made illegal. Say the names you tried to bury in footnotes. Because the footnotes are rising now. And baby— they brought receipts.

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