We are his legacy

This is my continent, our complement We are soil without component This are our roots, a superstition And sky blue cinematic religion I am you and you are me So we are his only being We are him, him Africa The father of black sleep, a flicker This is my stay, our state The fruits of our plate On his table we assemble Forever stoned kings of our resemble We are never our have But our within, a sacred grave Of a puritan hidden in our language For scars normed without a bandage.