No Hand Me Downs

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[INTRO — almost spoken] Before I knew what a wound was, I knew how one could sound. Some things are never written— they just keep getting handed down. [VERSE 1] I learned the names before the reasons, learned the lines before the land, learned who belonged around the table, who was never asked to stand. I heard judgments dressed as wisdom, old suspicions dressed as truth, little wars inherited by people barely out of youth. There were photographs and Bibles, there were ghosts behind the doors, there were things nobody talked about that somehow spoke the most. And a child will build a universe from whatever he’s allowed— so I carried other people’s weather like a thunder-bearing cloud. [PRE-CHORUS] But blood can tell you where you’re from— it doesn’t tell you who to be. And every chain that’s handed over still has to pass through me. [CHORUS] I got names from the dead, I got blood in the ground, I got stories they whispered when the children weren’t around. I got love mixed with anger, I got faith mixed with doubt, but whatever came before me doesn’t all have to go out. I won’t hand down the hatred, I won’t teach the old divide. I won’t make another stranger just to keep my place inside. Keep the name and keep the blessing, let the ancient poison drown. I can’t choose what I inherited— but I can choose what I hand down. [VERSE 2] Then I grew and saw the nations doing what our families do: teaching children ancient quarrels before they know who hated who. Every border has a memory, every flag can hide a scar, every generation swearing they remember who we are. We inherit ruined cities. We inherit father’s wars. We inherit maps with lines drawn by men who don’t live there anymore. Then we polish up the weapons, give the oldest fear new names, tell ourselves we’re making history while repeating it again. [PRE-CHORUS 2] Maybe kingdoms aren’t just conquered. Maybe kingdoms grow within. Every time I need another man beneath me just to win. [CHORUS 2] We got names from the dead, we got blood in the ground, we got stories shouted louder till no other voice is found. We got saints beside our sinners, we got crosses beside crowns, and we keep calling it inheritance when we’re passing hatred down. So I won’t hand down the hatred, I won’t sanctify the spite. I won’t teach a child that cruelty becomes holy when we’re right. Keep the songs and keep the stories, keep the good that still survives. But anything that needs another’s death to prove that I’m alive— Let it die. [INSTRUMENTAL BREAK] [VERSE 3 — stripped down] But I know the easy danger of believing I’m above all the people who came before me because I learned a kinder love. I’ve been angry. I’ve been prideful. I’ve wanted enemies brought low. I’ve confused the truth with winning. I’ve thrown stones I shouldn’t throw. There are wounds I kept reopening just to prove that they were real. There are nights I fed the bitterness because anger helped me feel. So if judgment starts with someone, don’t begin across the sea. Before I diagnose the whole world, let the scalpel enter me. [BRIDGE — piano only] Take the pride I call conviction. Take the vengeance I call truth. Take the fear I dressed as wisdom and inherited in youth. Take the throne I built from being right. Take the crown I never earned. If hatred needs another body just to keep its fire burning— [quiet] Let it end with me. [BUILD] If a debt demands a debtor— let it end with me. If a wound demands another— let it end with me. If the children need a reason not to become what they see— Let it end, let it end, let it end with me. [FINAL CHORUS — FULL CHOIR] I WILL NOT HAND DOWN THE HATRED. I WILL NOT TEACH THE OLD DIVIDE. I WILL NOT MAKE ANOTHER STRANGER JUST TO KEEP MY PLACE INSIDE. KEEP THE NAMES AND KEEP THE BLESSING. KEEP THE LOVE THAT MADE IT THROUGH. KEEP THE HANDS THAT HELD US TOGETHER. KEEP THE THINGS THAT STILL WERE TRUE. But the anger can be buried. And the ancient fear laid down. We can honor those who made us without becoming what they handed down. I am more than my inheritance. My children can be more than me. And maybe that’s how mercy enters into human history. Not by pretending there were no wounds. Not by forgetting what we’ve seen. But when the wound comes asking for another generation— [CHOIR DROPS OUT] No. [OUTRO — solitary vocal] It came to me. It doesn’t leave through me. Let it end with me.