I should be good, I try to be, but then I know I fail
For all my efforts, good or bad, the mirror tells the tale
My skin is black, no matter what, and so it is I’m fated
To be reviled, subservient, and if I disagree I’m hated.
But Martin’s dream, that one fine day my heart may then define me
But that dream requires that I must let the Hand of God refine me.
How can that be, for God is white, and has no interest in me
A victim in an unjust world is all I’m told I can be.
–
I should be good, I try to be, but then I know I fail
For all my efforts, good or bad, the mirror tells the tale.
My skin is white, no matter what, and so it is I’m fated
To oppress, supremely white, and by others to be hated
But Martin’s dream, that come one day, my color should not matter
That dream is dead, as now I’m told bad white folks own the ladder.
How can that be, that right and wrong are both embraced so blindly
If I can see both good and bad I’m racist they remind me.
–
The coin is tossed, and on each side are black and white suspended
No matter, though, how it may land, someone will be offended.
The world is topsy-turvy now, I scarcely can believe it.
All that I knew and I was taught is wrong and I must see it.
If I believe my eyes and speak, then soon they’ll light the torches
To intimidate and silence and so ensure less diverse discourses.
Free speech is fine so long as it’s in harmony with the chorus;
And you may worship who you wish so long as you bow before us.
–
Embrace the freedom of control exerted from above,
Free thought is just too dangerous, when push comes to shove.
It’s easier now, if you’ll just say we’re right and you were wrong.
And if you can say it convincingly, me might let you belong.
A doctor once revered would be dismayed to see our quick defeat.
He’d likely muse in saddened shock “to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street”.
In a dry and thirsty land 