after the funeral breaking cola nuts
we sit and reminisce about the past
and in her voice only sadness
her only son taken from her
in every headline we are reminded
that this not home for us
2nd generation blues
our point of view not listened to
different worlds and different rules
a question of allegiance
clinging to her bible and her scapula
and memories of the way things were
i cant see hope i cannot smile
i just burn with anger all the time
we all read
what they did
to the black
boy
in every headline we are reminded
that this is not home for us
where is it?
where is home?
i walk a modern tight rope
of humility and belligerence
all this tommy-rot and flag waving
is just getting me down
i want to stamp on the face of every young policeman
to break the fingers of every old judge
to cut off the feet of every ballerina
but i cannot
so i just sit, and i just sigh
and i pretend
that there's nothing wrong
the teeth of this world
tear me in half
and everyday i must ask myself
where is it?
where is home?
