My Negritude

[Intro]
I refer to Césaire as a great poet
"Cahier d'un retour au pays natal"
Statement of a return to the country where I was born
It is in this poem that is first stated
The power to conception nature

[Verse 1]
My negritude is not a stone
It's deafness thrown against the clamor of the day
My negritude is not a speck of dead water on the dead eye of Earth
My negritude is neither a tower nor a cathedral
It thrusts into the red flesh of the soil
It thrusts into the warm flesh of the sky
It digs under the opaque rejection of its rightful occasion

[Bridge]
(A.I.A) For the royal, collect with that
(A.I.A) For those who invented nothing
For those who have never discovered
For those who have never conquered
But struck, deliver themselves to the essence of all things

[Verse 2]
Ignorant of citizens
But taken by the very movement of things
Not caring to conquer
But playing the game of the world
Truly the elder sons of the world
Pour us to all the breath of the world
Fraternal space
Of all the breath of the world (La-la-la, la-la)
Ban without drain of all the waters in the world
Spark of the sacred fire of the world
Flesh of the flesh of the world
Panting with the very movement of the world
Tempered adorned on ancestral virtues

[Bridge]
Blood, blood
All our blood spilled by the male part of the sun
Those who know the feminine nature of the moon's oily flesh
The reconciled exaltation of the antelope and the star
Those who survive [?]

[Verse 3]
(A.I.A) Perfect circle of the world and close concordant
Hear the white
Horribly fatigued by its immense effort
Its rebellious articulations cracked under the hard stars
Its inflect abilities of blue steel past the mystic flesh (La-la-la, la-la)
Here, its treacherous victories, trumpeting its defeats
Here with grandiose alibis that pitiful stumbling
Mercy for our messians and our naive conquerors

[Bridge]
(A.I.A) For greed at the others of reincarnated tears
For those who explored nothing
For those who never mastered
A.I.A for joy
A.I.A for love
A.I.A for grief at the others of reincarnated tears

[Verse 4]
Here at the end of the dawn is my [?] (La-la-la, la-la)
That I may not hear the laughter or the cries
My eyes fixed on the city
Which I prophesize shall be beautiful
Give me the savage faith of the sorcerer
Give my hands the power to hold
Give my soul to the source [?]
Now with its enormous fist
And force is not in us, but above us
In a voice, which passes the night in the audience
Like a sting of an apocalyptic war
And the voice declares that for centuries Europe has stuffed us with lies
And bloated as the pestilence

[Outro]
But it's not true that the word of man is finished
That we have nothing to do in the world
That we are parasites in the world
That we have only to accept the way of the world
But the work of man has only begun (La-la-la, la)