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Crayola

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I went from playing with crayons when I was little
To realizing, that the world is one big crayon box
Everything is about colors nowadays
From your skin tone, to the color of your clothing
Let’s face it; race plays a huge part in our lives now
Black white and brown
Doesn’t matter which one you are, or which one you pick
Because no matter what, someone somewhere thinks you’re wrong
And now the red white and blue is clashing with the red white and green
But crayons were put in one box for a reason
We’re not meant to be separated; I think we’ve lost sight of that

And who would’ve known that two of the primary colors would grow to hate each other
For god’s sake we can’t even put the red next to the blue without a fight breaking out
Always out to prove who can color outside the lines of the law
As if the farther you get from the picture the better off you are
Until you stray too far and someone decides you need to get put back in a box
I’m not talking about crayons now
Blue’s chasing reds trying to make them bleed the same color they claim
Until their picture gets printed in black and white, bold print, rest in peace
Or maybe broken crayons rest in pieces
Either way their remains placed six feet under…brown
Man we sure have it backwards
We all bleed the same color, red
And the rivers we cry for those that passed flows into the same ocean, blue
So why is their fighting in the first place?

And don’t even get me started with green
That crayons got everyone twisted in its grip
We can’t live without it
Can’t go to the store and purchase food for our family
Without having enough green to pay the price
And boy do we ever pay the price
We’re so focused on this color that since it was ever invented we’ve been dying for it
Dying to get it, and once we do we’re dying to get more of it
What a vicious circle because you see green, isn’t prejudiced at all
You can be purple yellow orange or grey
It really doesn’t matter because we all still need, green

Now take a look at this crazy chaotic Picasso painting of a world
Scribbled in crayon colors that define us
And tell me that it wouldn’t be nice
To get a fresh clean sheet of paper
And just color in peace
But it sure is nice to dream



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