One Bag Left

[Verse 1]
August, '03, the back step of di GraceKennedy van sigh.
She shift her market bag, nuh even look mi in di eye.
Smell di exhaust mix wid di night-blooming jasmine from next door.
Mi watch di crack inna di pavement run right up to di door.
Her knuckles white 'pon di plastic handle, a map of all she know.
And mi swear a silent oath right there, watching di evening glow.

[Chorus]
And I see it inna mi head, clear like a level bubble true,
One bag a Portland cement left, fi mek di promise new.
Just one bag left, a final forty pounds of dust and grace.
To build the quiet 'pon my mother's face.

[Verse 2]
Today mi crew stackin' di Red Stripe blocks, di sun a beat a rhythm.
Every trowel-scrape sound like a question, an' mi nuh have answer fi give 'em.
Mi feel di grit under mi fingernail, di same way from back then.
'Robert,' she sigh, 'just come inside now, it gettin' late again.'
That weariness, a crooked wall mi spend my whole life straightenin'.
The final mix, the last barrow... a stillness I keep waitin' on.

[Chorus]
And I see it inna mi head, clear like a level bubble true,
One bag a Portland cement left, fi mek di promise new.
Just one bag left, a final forty pounds of dust and grace.
To build the quiet 'pon my mother's face.

[Bridge]
And after di last screed smooth di floor to a perfect plane...
What purpose gwan remain after dat blessin' of a strain?

[Instrumental Break]
(No vocals for 20 seconds. Funk horns and a chorused clean guitar trade powerful, melodic lines over the one-drop rhythm, building to a crescendo.)

[Outro]
Just one bag left...
To build di quiet.