Forecast

Looking for it, you will see my eyes against the blackness of the skies And trembling at my thundering heart before the lightning of truth Can flash upon the reality of self-admittance. Cumulus warning flies In the opiated forums of political earthquakes seeking now to uproot The news of our togetherness, I get no tea party invitation for this Is only a camouflage for the old hate of southern servants transformed Into new citizens; and yet I alert to my potential demise, find bliss Loving you back as strongly as you hate, that God's image undeformed In me, should show the sort of man that was origin too, and again May be ... if we in the storm can hold hands and sing aloud in the rain.