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omar offendum - father's day كلمات الأغنية

(feat. raquel houghton)

verse 1:
we’ve grown numb to imagery of death & demise…
blind as st paul till he saw a syrian sky…
miles away…wars preyin on the teariest eyes…
our deaf ears still ain’t hearin their cries…
why?
is it even worth askin anymore…
when guilt is but a swinging door…
with crooked men on either side…
cushionin each other’s fall…
orphans hidin from a devil w dark wings…
& writers w a conscience feel it pluck at our heartstrings…
but very seldom do we bother to speak…
led to believe we’re rendered powerless by fatherless creeps –
b-st-rdized politickin while our daughter’s beseech us
to let em flee their borders in peace…
i wonder if these sad scenarios will still remain as commonplace when i’m a father…
wanna face allah without regrets…
i should have tried harder…
quranic verses that we all live & die by…
“ya laytani kuntu turabaa”

chorus:
i used to wish that allah had taken us both away…
b/c life without u i couldn’t stand for one more day…
but now i see that i was in over my head…
& i just pray for your soul instead…

verse 2:
a generation of our future’s parents robbed of their role models…
and bottling the anger in until they explode on a road to a dead end…
paved w empty promises…
told by our head men…
who fold on any armistice…
sellin weapons to finance this…
ever-decadent highness’ …
surpluses & minuses…
as we’re stuck in the wryness
of war-torn horizons and forlorn surprises of which border to cover
and if mortars will smother
as if all of the other sh-t that dictators can stick ya with wasn’t enough for brothers who live within this conspicuous state…
sore thumbs…
sure crumbs can cure hunger…
but what of the post-traumatic stress
a 3-year-old will undergo in baghdad…
knowin that they bucked dad?
growin up to buck back…
like gimme my change…
sayin (#%@$) that…
its no surprise he never got to hear this from his usra…
“inna – ma3 – al-3usrii – yusra”

verse 3:
you keep your eyes on the street
i worry bout whats below it
we’re pavin over a m-ss grave
no markers to show it
the last words of the lad were “biddee 3ish baba” – know it
his heart of darkness could conrad-ical marxists & poets
missin the mark of heroics
listen & hark to the stoic
yet transcendentalist flow &
be emmerson & th0r-au at
the same moment & blow it
i blame no-one & grow with
my shame – tiptoing through it
they sykes-picoted a hole in our brain
wish i could laugh now
but it wasn’t funny
the way they cut up our map
vowin to divy up money
that wasn’t theirs to begin with
but our leaders were dimwits
too conceited to see that they couldn’t beat them
& win with
little means to defend my people under attack – ta7t
it seems that our end’s a scene fadin to black – inma7at
i dream w a pen b/c our reality’s all – a7a
dont mean to offend – repent
“qull huwa allah – a7ad”

- omar offendum

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