He was talking of colors that fell from the sky
the kind that paint the streets with the blues
that’s all he ever wanted to sing
and play with the way the colors fade away
into the crooked concepts of yesterday
into those same watered down streets of color
unsure folks glare into the undying beat
if there’s nothing eternal to meet
the sacred path so familiar in decoding the gospels
fade and age the colors that trick a common man
cut off his hands and call him a fool,
you can't get them wrong
so walk in the morning
to the streets
squint through their creaks
time does not exist to think twice to look back
but with blind wishing those colors never came
hooked to a life in color
where old men leave behind their canes
all he wanted was to live in color
speeding fast down avenues flying streams of color
waving bye to the ones we love in handshakes of color
finally calling those on the streets our brothers
the boy who sings the blues kissed my magic in color
I saw the colors then and they'll be around for you again
That colorful train will come around the corner to mend
And our healed hearts will sing
the ritualed dance of black and white to it’s end
