Track Title: A Nation of Ingratitude
Genre: Roots Reggae / Heavy Dub
Vibe: Prophetic, Heavy, Atmospheric
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(INTRO)
(Sound of a slow, heavy wind. A deep, swirling bassline emerges from the silence, feeling like a geological shift. A single Nyabinghi drum hits every 8 beats, like a slow, grieving heartbeat. A mournful melodica echoes in the distance. Then, a clean but sorrowful guitar skanks once on the offbeat. The atmosphere is thick with warning.)
(VERSE 1)
I look upon the land, the fields of green and gold
Where our fathers’ hands broke the soil, in the days of old
They planted every seed with a prayer and a sweat
For the children yet unborn, so they’d never forget
Now the harvest is plenty, the table overflow
But the young ones just take it, and they never seem to know
Who dug the well they drink from, who bore the midday sun
They just turn their backs in silence when the work is done…
(CHORUS)
A nation of ingratitude…
Walking ’pon the bones of sacrifice, in a careless mood.
A nation of short memory…
Feasting on the tree, but cursing out the root steadily.
Oh, what a wicked thing…
To benefit from everything, and offer nothing.
A nation of ingratitude…
(VERSE 2)
The elders’ words are wisdom, but they drown them out with noise
Chasing hollow pleasures, temporary toys
They use the roads, the schools, the peace for which blood was shed
Then mock the very ideals living in their head
They bite the hand that feeds them, spit upon the past
While the foundation they stand on is crumbling fast
Ingratitude is cancer, spreading in the soul
Leaving a people empty, with no destined goal…
(CHORUS)
A nation of ingratitude…
Walking ’pon the bones of sacrifice, in a careless mood.
A nation of short memory…
Feasting on the tree, but cursing out the root steadily.
Oh, what a wicked thing…
To benefit from everything, and offer nothing.
A nation of ingratitude…
(DUB INTERLUDE – THE FORGETTING)
(The bassline becomes monstrous, dominating the soundscape. The drums drop out, then crash back in with cavernous echoes. Snippets of the first verse and chorus fly past, twisted and warped: “FATHERS’ HANDS…” “NEVER FORGET…” “CURSING OUT THE ROOT…” The melodica cries like a ghost. A sample of an elder’s voice, faint and distorted: “Remember… who you are…” This section sounds like history itself being erased in real time.)
(BRIDGE – THE WAKE-UP CALL)
What will it take to open up your eyes?
A famine in the land? A tearful, choked surprise?
When the well runs dry, and the tree bears no more fruit
Will you then remember the forgotten root?
Gratitude is not just words you say one day
It’s how you live, and honor, and repay
It’s the breath you give the legacy you’re in
Before the whole house fall, from the dry-rot within…
(CHORUS – URGENT, DESPERATE)
A NATION OF INGRATITUDE! (WAKE UP NOW!)
Walking ’pon the bones of sacrifice, in a careless mood!
A nation of short memory… (Remember!)
Feasting on the tree, but cursing out the root steadily!
Oh, what a wicked thing…
To bene
JethroKing78
