He makes a statement, and I recoil.
A statement to make my sweet blood boil.
He gets no reaction, so up he stands.
His look says we're strangers in foreign lands.
No openness to things outside his box.
My back is stirred. My shoulders? Rocks.
Grouch, take advantage, even moan,
But never question the music of Nina Simone.
No comments:
Post a Comment