This song came about in a slightly different way than the others I’ve written. As many do, I met my best friend on the first day of freshman year at an orientation for incoming music students. From day one, Julien and I became essentially inseparable. We spent our first two years taking the same composition courses and arguing about theory over hot chocolates at the nearby 24-hour cafe. Julien, now pursuing graduate study in ethnomusicology, was always exposing me to music from previously unheard of cultures. One time, he started telling me about Yoruban culture. For about a week, we continuously listened to the music of an afro-cuban duo named Ibeyi. When the week was over, Julien said, let’s write something with body percussion.

It’s at this point that I want to make a very important disclaimer. Although both of us spent the next four months researching various aspects of Yoruban culture, neither of us ever felt that the work we would come to produce would be afro-cuban in any sense of the word. That wasn’t our culture, our work was not an expression of it. We were, however, deeply inspired by the folklore, rhythmic motifs, and instrumental choices of this culture’s music. And, without any claims to authenticity, we developed something that reflected our profound respect for the slice of culture we came in contact with.

The lyrics of this song, written by me, are a product of thoughts on Western imperialism and its connection with monotheism.

Here now I sit, I’m waiting

For you to say the words

Darkness is slowly fading

Distance between our worlds

I do not understand you

You who have turned away

You with a stranger’s pity

Take all that there is to take

No one here wants you

You make us feel sad and blue

No one here wants you

You make us feel torn and used

Why must I let you haunt me

My faith is wildly weak

All that I seek are answers

If only we were to speak