As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
Maclachlan paired Lorde up with various songwriters. "It didn't work at all," he says. "I think Ella inherently sensed that she was never going to sing other people's songs." She finally found a simpatico collaborator in Joel Little, a graduate of the New Zealand pop-punk circuit with some national hits to his name and an ear for spare, electronic beats. Little helped teach Lorde about song structure. "I wanted to bend the song around the lyric, as opposed to vice versa, kind of squashing the words in there," she says. "Joel would say, 'The syllables have to match up!'"