Blood cries out from the depths of the sea,

From the bodies thrown overboard by the bourgeois.

That ocean floor, where souls were left to die

Sends up a wrath of fire toward the sunny sky,

Stalking the heels of this monstrous boat

From shore to shore, the enemy it smote.

Blood cries out from the depths of the land,

From the bodies beaten and buried deep in this sand.

Stripped of dignity and herded like cattle,

A wrath rises up ready for battle:

Stalking the heels of this monstrous deed

It will not stop until we are freed.

Blood cries out from the depths of the trees

From the bodies hanging, swaying in the breeze—

Wafting the putrid smell of burning skin—

As a wrath rises up from the deepest depth within,

Stalking the heels of these monstrous people

Fraudulently hiding beneath the steeple.

Blood cries out from the depths of the pavement

From the bodies that fell in the streets of Flint,

In Ferguson and Charleston and Minnesota and Kentucky—

The earth trembles as a wrath rises up out of the lucky,

Stalking the heels of this monstrous oppressor

Seeking vengeance on this ruthless aggressor.

Blood cries out from the depths of the cloth

From the bodies of the ancestors of the cultures wroth,

From the souls that made it across the depths of the blue

Who were whipped and stolen from and never given their due,

And watched the red of the blood shed at their expense—

Afraid of the white and longing for justice.

There is a wrath rising up from the soul,

By a people that were never yours to control.