colors of time
The Road
Ever On
Man of
Return to

Man of Color

The world breaks me and smashes me, shatters me and I crash
I say fuck this shit, I'll fly out of here 
        like a monkey-eating eagle 
   straight out of the jungles of Mindanao,
catching the wind to Honolulu and beyond
    I can be anyone, do anything.
I'm a whirlwind, tearing this place apart
A raging fire burning across the sky
I'm the waves on the sea, a flood and raging tides
An earthquake, rumble like thunder, rending asunder

Then I smash my face against the glass ceiling
    and fall into the bottomless pit

But I guess it just goes to show you: 
        All who pursue that lie of the Dream 
        are bound to end this way anyways.

So I'll hit the pavement, thrown out by the ear
    My dreams might end in shattered hopes
    My fears are all that's real
Who am I? I keep asking,
    knowing no answers but this: that I am a dying thing
And part of this decaying world
    Disorder ever increases
        and breaking things is so much easier
        than putting them back together.

"You've left the path of wisdom," the old white man in a blue hat
    wags his finger at me
        A part of me, a sick, sad hating and fearful part of me
    wants to spit in his face just 'cause he ain't brown

But only a fool ignores the truth.  
    It never matters where it comes from
The truth is the truth even if it's Satan himself whose saying it.

White man, black man, yellow man, red man, brown man 
    sitting under the sun.  Colors should only matter when your
playing with your Crayolas,
    and everytime someone mentions The Man
    I only shake my head.
                Your kicking yourself in the head with that talk
Just put the shit back together; 
there ain't no need to tear it apart anymore

So I'm spinning around in circles,
    trying to figure out what I am,
    trying to figure out what you are
But I know it's all pointless

    My brothers'll cry racism,
        but, damnit all to hell, who's in the wrong?
    'Cause I just can't help but wonder
What if it were the other way around?

So I'm whirling round in circles,
    trying to figure right from wrong,
    trying to find out what to do
        But it doesn't really matter
    'cause in the end, we'll all be dead.
©1996 by Victor Ganata