*R.I.P. Proof, J.Dilla, Dave "Disco D" Shayman*
In D Town, Motor City,
in the Midwest by the river,
I see the face of hip-hop
in the real world of spirits,
in the verbal art up at CCC
Club on E. 8 Mile, in the
drawings posted on graffiti
framed tiles.
Half-hidden shadows on
the edge of play, discernible
in the light I hear Proof say,
"You just let them have their
run", halo of gold, flash of
a gun; back to the sound
of falling rain, back to a
world where there's no pain.
A shift in angles and I raise
my head, follow the main
road to where I'm led, an icy
wind brings out the dead,
deep brown of night my soul
is fed. Piano playing in the
dark, the thoughts in my mind
meet their mark.
Sounds drift through words
and phrases, melodies rise
upon the praises; J Dilla,
Proof and Disco Dave, your
music flows towards me and
away. D-flat major to C-sharp
minor, you'll always be Detroit's
premier headliners.
