Maybe one day
the floods will wash away
this secondhand sin
we find ourselves buried in.

We’ll climb our way out
of the deep-seated doubt
they sow and embed
‘cause we’re “just not well-read.”

We’ll rise without stops
‘till our heads meet mountaintops
where barons live in grandeur
‘cause they screw over the poor.

We’ll all take lighters
to those greedy outsiders.
Watch them burn like the coal
they traded for soul.