I imagine myself cultivated in the mind of blind guru

Where color doesn't matter, where I can seek the truth

Where new testaments are created and the Jehovah’s undermine the statement that a “nigga” like me doesn't have a chance at life before God takes it

That my vernacular is too straight to be a part of a race, that embodies William Lynch’s words: The Making of a Slave

But my memory is hazed, still thinking that were chained because I am too black to have the ability to see there will be daylight again

Perspicacious to the fact I will see a Trayvon again

And all you Sanctimonious people can find another Individual to place your labels on again

Because I’m too complex, paying homage to those of Jane Pittman a fictional identity realistic to the 119 year old that embodies the soul of our country…….

Like the ocean, and the seas, the birds and the trees we adapt to the environment we see

But I’ll flee thinking why me focusing on e-harmony where’s the love trynna harmonizing the world around we

Being on bended knee asking another brother to accept me it’s a shame these colors complexes got my sister thinking she above me

But I say fuck it Malcolm and King were both wrong in ever thinking we were gonna make it as one

The war just begun and straddling my thumb I seek to end ignorance life as he separates my world of fun

As he separates mother and son, as father was never really in “our” picture so his battle is won  

 So I challenge us leave behind the piss in hallways, rioting off verdicts, recycling our known ways

To not be encaged by the system refusing to play the right game and understand the spectrum of America’s facade in order to survive the paint bowl maze