What We Came After Kae Tempest

I tell of him
Who summoned them storms in vengeance
Poisoned by the wrath of his rememberance
Him that gave language just to impose the senseless.
His name was Prospero
And he prospers by what he knows.
Knowledge he keeps for himself
And it is used for the bad, to enslave and to mystify.
Know the language that fills up your mouth is imposition.
And subject your ambition to a bootless inquisition.

Look, Propsero, wronged, survived.
He grew wise.
He got fattened on dem books.
He despised when he should have dismissed.
Well, that to this is all relative.

Madness for those who can’t measure it,
Sadness for those who seek seditative,
Gladness for those who know that pleasure is all self-constructed,
Who know how to clutch it.

Look, if by your art you are fevered of the skies,
You need to let the heat within rise and evaporate.
If you’re the type that sees the sea’s tide is against you, you will never navigate.
I know that language is for those obsessed with real meaning.
Don’t love the oppressor or trust the oppressor,
but don’t begrudge the oppressor the oppressor’s oppression
because each has to learn their own lessons.