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