It is a Sunday
The day chosen by the holy spirits
And advocated by the ancestors
A day close to the stars
A warm wish
Never fail to get dust off those boots
Trim that beard and iron that smile
Shine that light because the ghetto will always hug you right
Up, up we go
It is a Sunday

A glorious occasion
A day God took off her wig and loosen her bra to sit at the balcony and puff while admiring her latest invention
She gives birth effortlessly
A thousand copies of her images in a single blink
She is a black God...