A black man souled me my religion with his silhouetted blues and glit'ring worlds
Carved my faith with an old fashioned mic and tilted cap
I was a product of societies blue eyes and blonde hair
Trapped behind the funeral veil being poured into our rivers from the polluted pipes of reality
I watched God's eye as they scanned the deserted souls of our landscape
Wept floods of sorrow through our illusioned damns of hope
Leaving us alone to tend to the graveyard of our dreams
Questioning the mimicing raven, that can only give the answers we never wanted to hear. . .
But crying would be fruitless if we could see what's coming
Like fishing in the mutated waters of society
Shocking, but expected
Then again leaving the hook and closing the window would just make us irresponsible
So we slip into the sleeping game of time, sliding under the covers of trust
Hoping to find a shield from the boogie man in the sheets
Only to find that the boogie man rest here too
Puts good night kisses in the pillow cases to poison my dreams
And along with these realizations comes the drying of my faith in the old fashioned mic and tilted cap
Because the black man that souled me my religion forgot to mention that all that glitters, is not gold