All this country has ever done is break my mother's heart, which is by way of the fact that I house divided against itself can never stand let me explain. When the whole world has slowly washed your country strip the dignity from your skin and will feel like your elders live with phantom guns to their backs loaded full of triggers within somewhere between soul and spirit a great hollow filled with bullets and beatings and memories too terrible for even history to make peace with a debilitating open secret in each breath that menacing whisper of the collective trauma that has never left us. How many crimes statistics must escalate before we see this? How many baby girls and women must have their bodies ravaged before we believe this? How many black men must sink to the bottom of newspaper rap brown bottles before we discuss this? How many cops have to kill their families and themselves before we fix this? Memories too terrible for even history to make peace with? The debilitating trauma of living to be equated with both will do so much in opening you. Sound look and struggle will not convert you to this motherland of your birth will other you. And eventually she reaches arms out to cover you while singing to that classic length in Hughes what happens to a dream deferred? Does it rot? Does it run? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun blood and dust swept under rocks have a way of growing legs and becoming the demons that haunt us from right beneath our beds? This is the house that we built. And we must have the playing house that the only way to explain it when the tortured psycho people somehow becomes worldwide entertainment. The cropping horror story of Abate and how the rainbow nation overcame it over 300 years of oppression squeezed into 15 minutes of pain and lights camera action cue my African dream my diva job and a bunch of smiling natives dancing happily off into the sunrise close with Abate perpetrators and cut lights dim then reality sense in all this country ever does is break our hearts which is by way of the fact that a house divided against itself can never stand with a back door revealing black and white rainbows that contain no parts of gold we live under glass ceilings with the cash rates economic freedom flashing involved in windows that show us watching ballot papers against our souls this is the house that we built. Six and stones and misogynistic men do not for good walls make when all they do is break and burden our foundation which is our women while politicians cash in building blocks and leave us with 17 years worth of promises to hold we express the sin it continues to rock as if we could ever construct anything solid the question marks we are being sold this is the house that we built. All this country ever does is break our hearts which is by way of the fact that a house divided against itself can never stand memories too terrible for even history to make peace with pieces of collective trauma that we still haven't dealt with. Fuck around and act complex it just because the people in government have black faces evidently does not mean shit when cadessa trc and addressing inequalities come second in the face of corporate interests. The violence that was then sewn is the poverty that we now reap the dreams we kill at the mercy of politicians daily deceit the blood these fill the morts we feel because this this is the house that we all built.