Like a mellow song stopped by broken strings,
What would you do if I was dead?
Would world be a better place, if I was dead?
What would you feel to see me not make it to the hall of fame?
To see my cup runneth over, am I possibly doing justice to my mind, body and soul?
…Blessings, blessings, I see the silver rays escaping the grey clouds, loudly hitting this white shirt
Hoping it don’t get dirted off my dark skin,
Hoping it don’t finally let the animosity and marginalising get to me,
To suddenly have myself loving my strive,
To do my best in a never-ending race with Freud and Neo,
Where Freddy Kruger referees, skeptics bet, atheists pray,
To still keep pursuing an endlessly consolidating goal of being proud of my race, of being at the top of the totem pole…
This is what I wanted, a masochist dream-chaser, as much in love with the glory as the pain…