Truth is a Trap House - The Poem

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[No Music]

Yeah, Yeah... 
 I'd like to send a shoutout to Voices of Foster Care. 
This is Brown Viking with my version of Jessica Holter's Poem.  And, Uh, hey man, Power to the People.

Truth is a Trap House

[Musical Break]

[Intro]

One day in May
as if I had just awoke
from a choke-hold
I saw you as some do.

[Verse- Spoken Word)

Like my Irish mother,
who warned me
you could not be trusted,
that peasants and you peons
are desperate demons,
who would stop at nothing
to have everything,
for no good reason.

Like my foster mother,
the old woman 
from Longview, Texas
with cataracts and the sight,
who felt you coming
for her father’s land,
who knew you to be
a most dishonest man
and a wizard with a pen.

[Chorus]

Taking on bullets and bombs 
from Oklahoma skies 
I saw you in Tulsa
as the multitude
of my cousins do,
throwing stones
and hiding your hand.

[Verse- Spoken Word)

Indigenous to Turtle Isle,
my father’s grandmother
never took a boat ride
forced to change her name,
disavow her American tribe
both slave and African,
she became
through textbook genocide.

That day in May,
I got a gander
at how you pimp and pander
as I stumbled up the steps 
of your trap house,
where I had been the tomfool
picked the locks
and plucked my soul 
from the lost and found box
you use as a footstool.

[Chorus]

Taking on bullets and bombs 
from Oklahoma skies 
I saw you in Tulsa
as the multitude
of my cousins do,
throwing stones
and hiding your hand.

[Bridge]
[Spoken Word, Musical Change]

Spring cleaning a grungy room where time had stood still 
for 400 years, I ripped curtains of lies from the windows,
to let the sunshine through to find stacks of memories, dust bunnies of blame for our own misery hidden in dark corners
of your conflicted history.

[Verse- Spoken Word)

Like my ancestors,
I became too smitten to relearn
what I had once known,
taking pride in good work
for a good God
on a house that I would never own,
where vanity haunted the mirrors,
and envy roamed the halls
I washed walls
with homespun negro cloth
until the facades were gone

Reaching into high corners
and hidden crevices
for cobbed webs of witches’ broom,
I jumped over and through time
to find the truth but found me 
trapped and obsession-possessed,
the longer I stay,
the more difficult it seems
to leave this house of habits,
where factions and bandits
smoke dreams

[Break Down]
[Chorus - Passionate Singing, Guitar crescendo]

Yeaaah, Yeah....
Uh-huh, uh-huh, ha
I picked the locks
and plucked my soul 
from the lost and found box
you use as a footstool.

[Chorus - Passionate Singing}

Taking on bullets and bombs 
from Oklahoma skies 
I saw you in Tulsa
as the multitude
of my cousins do,
throwing stones
and hiding your hand.

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[No Music] Yeah, Yeah... I'd like to send a shoutout to Voices of Foster Care. This is Brown Viking with my version of Jessica Holter's Poem. And, Uh, hey man, Power to the People. Truth is a Trap House [Musical Break] [Intro] One day in May as if I had just awoke from a choke-hold I saw you as some do. [Verse- Spoken Word) Like my Irish mother, who warned me you could not be trusted, that peasants and you peons are desperate demons, who would stop at nothing to have everything, for no good reason. Like my foster mother, the old woman from Longview, Texas with cataracts and the sight, who felt you coming for her father’s land, who knew you to be a most dishonest man and a wizard with a pen. [Chorus] Taking on bullets and bombs from Oklahoma skies I saw you in Tulsa as the multitude of my cousins do, throwing stones and hiding your hand. [Verse- Spoken Word) Indigenous to Turtle Isle, my father’s grandmother never took a boat ride forced to change her name, disavow her American tribe both slave and African, she became through textbook genocide. That day in May, I got a gander at how you pimp and pander as I stumbled up the steps of your trap house, where I had been the tomfool picked the locks and plucked my soul from the lost and found box you use as a footstool. [Chorus] Taking on bullets and bombs from Oklahoma skies I saw you in Tulsa as the multitude of my cousins do, throwing stones and hiding your hand. [Bridge] [Spoken Word, Musical Change] Spring cleaning a grungy room where time had stood still for 400 years, I ripped curtains of lies from the windows, to let the sunshine through to find stacks of memories, dust bunnies of blame for our own misery hidden in dark corners of your conflicted history. [Verse- Spoken Word) Like my ancestors, I became too smitten to relearn what I had once known, taking pride in good work for a good God on a house that I would never own, where vanity haunted the mirrors, and envy roamed the halls I washed walls with homespun negro cloth until the facades were gone Reaching into high corners and hidden crevices for cobbed webs of witches’ broom, I jumped over and through time to find the truth but found me trapped and obsession-possessed, the longer I stay, the more difficult it seems to leave this house of habits, where factions and bandits smoke dreams [Break Down] [Chorus - Passionate Singing, Guitar crescendo] Yeaaah, Yeah.... Uh-huh, uh-huh, ha I picked the locks and plucked my soul from the lost and found box you use as a footstool. [Chorus - Passionate Singing} Taking on bullets and bombs from Oklahoma skies I saw you in Tulsa as the multitude of my cousins do, throwing stones and hiding your hand.

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