BLAQ ROC FORECAST VOL. I

Tyrant’s Covenant:

Tiberius Island

Black Pearl

Blaq Roc Forecast

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Blac Roc Forecast Vol. 1 trailer portrays a haunting monologue that reveals the traumatic childhood of a retired ,U.S. Navy SEAL,veteran who, under hypnosis, uncovers buried horrors from his past. Adopted into an apparently idyllic middle-class family in 1979, his life behind the picket-fence facade was actually a front for hidden abuse and psychological terror.

The narrative centers on "Tiberius Island," where his adoptive family vacationed—a place that became the origin of recurring nightmares. The story connects his personal trauma to a broader, historical pattern of tyranny, drawing direct parallels to the cruel excesses of Roman emperors like Tiberius and Caligula. It suggests that the cycles of abuse, power, and hidden violence have been repeated throughout history and continue in modern elite circles.

The monologue blends personal confession with historical allegory, exposing how psychological wounds fester across generations and how structures of power often hide dark, exploitative rituals.

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Credit: Published by Spectrum |

Writer: Black Pearl

Blaq Roc Forcast Vol. I

Dark Seed Hebrew:

Children of the chosen ones.

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Lost sheep,

Black men,

women,

children

Kindly pick up

Your head and

Your Hebrew feet.

As you walk to

The Creator’s throne,

Bow down before Him.

It is time to

Claim your lineage.

The ones

who were once fooled

With the material,

The tangibles—

That left you in shambles.

Go take a spiritual bath.

Goo head,

Get your mind right, by

Cleansing yourself from your

head down to your toes

, including to purify your soul.

Put your princely robes on.

Let your hair and your skin be natural.

Come in one accord.

It is time to pay homage to the Lord.

It is time to understand

Who you are /

know your wealth

You are the Hebrew

Children of Lion of Juda

You were never a gentile

The Star of David

Son (king Solomon)

Seal of wisdom

We’re drawn from

The sand while we

Held with the sun

at the palm of our hands

The moon landed beneath our

Feet

The creator gave birth

to us in the water.

We are the true chosen ones.

We are the Hebrews.

We were once called Negroes, a name draped over us like a foreign shroud,

Yet we have always been indigenous to the soil of our own spirits.

Now, as we stretch out our tents—

As we pull the pegs from the past and let the canopy catch the new wind—

We no longer stare into the dark pools of Babylon’s nightmare.

We no longer turn our skin inside out, searching for the horrors they tattooed there.

Babylon’s camp is a fading echo, a ghost-tent collapsing in our rearview.

We shake the desert dust from our hems,

And the wind carries it back to the captors’ mouths.

Caveman

Black Pearl by Narrator

Jahmala Downer by lyrics

Jah Lion Music Production

Wazir Wiz Music : Afro beats

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

A rhythm for the ages, from Jah Lion Music, thanks for the lyrics.

From the broken street, a rhythm born in stone,

Here comes a perfect Storm

From the apocalypse

A man without a face

dress in white ;

Riding his white horse

A course,

He delivers a warning:

Once was a blessing,

It became a man's curse .

While the heartbeat primal,

brutal, and alone.

There stalks a figure, known to all as Kane,

Whose very name translates to acid rain.

Citizen Kane, they whisper, with a curse,

He rides the city like a phantom hearse.

Hands over fist, he takes and never asks,

A sculptor carving masks from broken tasks.

He doesn’t know a better way to be,

For he is what the concrete womb sets free.

He is the son, the son of a caveman.

The lineage is written in his hand.

No clever strategies, no clever guise,

Just fire in the narrow of his eyes.

The name of his game? A treacherous design—

To lie, to kill, to steal, to cheat is the bottom line.

He jumps the fences, cuts the corners clean,

A feral engine, mean and ever-mean.

The worst part of him was, in fact, his best:

A conscience never stirred within his chest.

He shows no shame beneath the city’s lamp,

A predator who feeds upon the camp.

What do you expect from dust and wrath?

He is nothing but the son of a caveman’s path.

Fortnight

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Believe it or not—

She was our backup main switch.

Lady Liberty, asleep in her oxidized skin,

a silent statue with circuits within.

Her torch, a dormant sun,

unlit… yet the current had only just begun.

Fortnight.

During my graveyard shift,

as I looked over my shoulder,

I have noticed that

Something ain’t right.

The system fired the

Coast guards, and

, the dispatched team

Like mainstream media

Survival somehow

vanished vessels

No press release;

There goes our

anonymous tip.

Fortnight

Something ain’t right,

Who the hell turned off

the torchlight?

They killed the beacon,

dialed down the glow.

Unclear,

no knock

warrants,

Wrong house,

Imaginary summons,

cease and desist,

any foreign born

No entrance

From Lady’s borders.

She plunged the harbor

into a deeper low.

Turn off the lights,

light,

light.

Fortnight.

Something ain’t right.

Who the hell authorized

shut off all the lights?

A dead men, whom were once head leaders, including his exiled Saxon Linage all climbs out,

not from soil, but from a signed decrees.

They rose from their litter box of history,

out-foxes some with paperwork and dread, but not all.

Not the voices in the tread.

They inserted their souls, possessed into Sandman’s head.

Similar as Frankenstein,

Dead men’s bodies made his power come alive again!

Now, no one’s safe here.

This is the sweep:

Pandemic.

Psychological.

Spiritual warfare, buried deep.

Whenever Sandman’s agents come around,

their ink is black, their purpose crowned,

all of them are gonna scar her towns.

They move in daylight, suits pressed sharp,

drawing borders in the dark.

Cowards have the nerve,

after violation against our first rights—

with bullets landed. A woman, a frozen chord

in Minneapolis, a melody abruptly scored.

In Los Angeles, before the ball drop

( 12/25/25 )

Say his name ,

For millennial 26,

A man’s celebration—a silenced tambourine—

thankful for life, in a routine scene.

How the hell was joy the crime, met with blights?

It was totally unnecessary.

Cuffs of code, wipes of screens,

Pepper sprayed,

guarded chains in data streams.

They think the fight is neat, contained,

a ledger sorted, pre-explained.

SOLDIERS

MARCH

TO THE

LEFT

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Brothers, sisters—

Soldiers march from the left of me,

always have the best of me.

Pull up a chair.

Lend me your ear.

The topic is poverty.

How we can take it

Away from those foes

, secret elite societies?

It is about a single mother

who raises four children without a father.

She did all that she could,

But society and her children

could never understood.

Parliament provides a supplement for only one,

while the other youths fade out of the system.

Her first son entered the war.

He was her only one,

shot down from the front line,

except for his untrusted crew.

Parliament awarded an honorary medal

with a small eulogy.

The mother was not allowed to receive his pension,

because Parliament failed to comply with the compensation.

It was a debt that she owed from the duration of his birth.

They taxed his pension.

Meanwhile, she and her family resided

in the ranking #3 most dangerous slums,

a two-duplex apartment.

She was determined to beat the system through prostitution.

Her middle child earned a degree.

She cries when night arrives,

for being a street hawk,

just trying to stay alive.

While she stares at the ceiling,

she impatiently waits for her master.

While she is on top,

a pillow miserly falls over their heads.

PORCH-PIRATES

BLACK PEARL

Spectrum Wave Publishing

COPYRIGHT@2026

While I was home alone,

Somewhere,

late at night,

I heard a strange knock

At my front door.

As I blew out my candles,

Darkness pretended

House and I were suspended.

As quiet as it wasl kept,

The strangers won’t

leave us alone

Love to throw stones

, but hide their hands

When I heard

a heavy stomp

Upon my wooden

floors,

I wondered who ever

This could be?

Please,

in 1833

Women like me

Bond never free

She couldn’t rely on anybody,

Including 1885,

lady liberty

I could not take

Any chance against

Difficult circumstance

Because a woman

Like me is never

Protected

Only collected

Allow me to

Stand 5 Feet tall

Stay well, arm.

Give it my all!

I stood

On my feet

Be well woke

Because

Porch pirates

ain’t a joke

Hypocritical

Blame Game

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Sound Bitez

Unapologetic Unbroken Banner

Copyright@2026

One by one, they hang them dry

Sooner or later, you can’t

touch the sky

2 x 2, they take away your supply

3 x 3 they are swung us upon a tree

4 x 4, they cannot wait to do it some more

5 x 5 our lives swing from side to side

Stories all are the same

Because someone else claim

It’s a god-awful shame

But

They love to

Point the finger

, by playing the hypocritical blame

This material belongs to the Property of Spectrum Wave Publishing/ Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment/ Black Pearl copyright@2026

Quiet Before The Storm :

Rich Man Raven Warfare

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publ

Copyright@2026

The rich man thrives

Like a raven in disguise.

He does not care

Who loses sight?

Raven warfare

Until it satisfies—

He wants more,

More,

More,

Evermore,

Like a whore,

Greedy to the core.

They do not tend

To the needy.

Selfish, hate, lust—

A dangerous creed.

When a rich man

Takes from a poor man,

He declares a classic war:

Rich man raven warfare.

Poor man,

You'd better buck up.

Battle up.

Don’t give up the fight.

Bob Marley once said,

“Get up, stand up

For your rights.”

Rich man raven warfare.

They, too, are craven,

Act just like the raven.

Day and night, they declare the fight.

They desire to have

More,

More,

More.

They crave another’s possessions.

Rich man raven warfare.

Eyes so red, green with envy,

Master to destroy,

Walls of division were built between.

But the poor man

Must earn,

Learn a trade,

Create, innovate,

Unite and fight

For every man’s rights.

While the world sits in depression,

The Divine hears

The poor man’s confession.

Like Gideon, build an altar—

Pray, but also fight for what is right.

Rich man raven warfare

Will lose this war

Through lack of knowledge, greed’s deep scar.

With the power invested,

The poor man’s tears

Shall fetch a prophecy:

All men will be free.

Yet we live in a world

Where are they not treated the same?

We must end this charade,

Burn the rich man’s pockets,

Let the saga fade.

You won’t hear it

On the evening news,

But the clash continues—

Titans in another war.

Poor man, build your Trojan horse.

Rich man raven warfare,

In high demand,

Covets another man’s land.

They always want

More,

More,

More.

Rich man raven warfare,

Dirty whore.

As a poor man,

Is it survival of the fittest?

We will finish strong.

Stick around, find out.

Fix all businesses.

Rich man raven warfare—

Always more.

Survival is the song.

We rise,

Though the battle is long.