Pieces of the sun falling,
Hot it burns my heels,
Drying the place i call home,
As i run, run towards freedom,
Trying to free my tribalistic mind.
Fumes, in different shades and intensity,
Chocking my dreams of a better world,
Blinding my sight, The leaders i support,
Leaders i seldom choose,
Springs sprout from vehicles heavy,
Color my skin, blue and white,
Shower me with blessings disguised,
Itchy skin, my sweat it hides,
Little shades of red as i bleed.
Coal, color used to define my ancestors,
They whom, my flesh comes from,
A mother labored for hours, years maybe,
And birthed a selfish generation.
Guns, stones they all shoot the same,
Different mechanisms though, aim to shoot,
Shoot to kill, This mantra my mind it clogs.
Tears, Screams, i hope this they see,
Let them hide not their eyes from me,
The camera man didn’t take a wrong shot,
This place i call home,
No longer is sweet to me.