Bleeding colours
There’s a lot to be said for us in the red
when we cling to the white of our blues.
Do we know the taste of starting to waste?
The pain of a bruise, that we didn’t choose?
We take to the street, world at our feet and claim to be hurt and wounded.
It’s like we forget that before supposed threat, it was us leaving lands marooned.
Blood on our hands, we still hold their scars
from their own skies, we stole all the stars.
So why close the gate, decide it’s too late?
To stand at the shore, above any law.
A fraction of pain we could take away,
their endless night would bleed into day.
We’re so quick to place blame on the ones who’ve just came,
who’ve crossed oceans and worlds so bleak.
All it would take, a swim in their lake
and in their shoes, we’d see our own feet.
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