HIM

Im him
The slave who broke into mastas tea room while he was out selling my mother in town
So to hell with creepin in the back
Run round
Murder that pretty little picture window in the front of the house
Plant the seeds of broken glass to breed disaster
and hope turmoil grows like weeds
On a path off destruction and nothing else
Until i felt the eyes of another
A house servant onlooking my work from a safe distance as usual
Ready to bury the hatchet
Deep in my least favorite uncles skull
Im pulled from my rage i hear horses at the front
The man who iwas so quick to kill now takes me to a Small room nearby to hide
Hatchet clutched tight
But There was no wAy to prepare for what was inside
In the corner stood
A box
wood wide and high
With teeth resembling an elephant tusk.
I touch
Than press down on its off white teeth
And amplified is a sound that has come to be a corner stone in my life
A grown mans scream
Backing away from this demon
And as i search for the orgins of the noise
I come to realize
The crimson blood of my brother
Flowing under the the closed door
Stuck in a trance of terror
I am paralyzed
So much so I barley noticed when they kicked the door down
I didnt even reach for my hatchet when the gun went of
My last memory is that of staring up from my pool of blood
At that foreign figure
Made of dark wood and ivory
Wondering to my self
What mysteries it must hold

I am him
the first black man to play a piano
I am the official soundtrack to the united snakes of America
I am the birth of jazz
Father of modern music