One too many days without freedom
One too many mornings full of outrage
As the sand pulled away from his feet
He would read then rip out every page

The words from heaven were for all men
But the boat wasn’t big enough; only for the few
A difficult man, he argued inside his own dreams
He neither sleeps or awakens until he knows what is true

Some people have to die before they know what’s true
But it’s not God who decides to tell them
Angels that foretold of his troubles in the night
Are the ones who must remind him

It is by the experience of man that he frames his picture
The color he chose is the sectarian assumption of superiority
How can anyone prove anything in the absence of truth?
He drew inward not to reject but instead to find his own sanity

The decision was made to live only by the mind
Power crushes a man’s will and his ability to succeed
We judge the results without reason or excuse
We forget what can no longer cry or bleed

The memory of the dead drove him to madness
They became more important than the future of the living
To compromise was to mock the power of vengeance
There was nothing to govern; only the will of the forgiving

He told her he didn’t want to talk; only to love
She knew how he felt; he was an idea and not a father
He was too heavy for life but light enough to care
His ideals were like air to breathe but hate was his revolver

He would die a thousand deaths for his people to be heard
But his bitterness could not overcome those who benefit
They were too tired to fight any longer
They saw the sun and told him it was time to watch it set

He was told that his life was no longer necessary
He could not operate within the system
A revolutionary knows yesterday has been locked away
The closets are full of those who pretend to love the victim

He assumed the rich stole everything
It was the land where his ancestors once stood
He began to sag under the weight of his own anger
Because if a bullet wouldn’t do it then he knew progress would