It isn’t fair, it wasn’t right,
To take his light, that shone on bright,
It leaves him bare, no skin to wear,
Alone in thought, afraid of not.
We striped his fate, it wasn’t hate,
He knew too much, a wish upfront,
Out in this cold, we laid his toes,
About our ways, we put his case.
Call it greed, call it seed,
Here we stood, there he froze,
Winter blues, in our twos,
Dark as black, in his night.
But out one eye, saw a light,
Bright as suns, blind our minds,
Up he stood, bold and free,
Spread his wings, too his flight.
By Julius Fa,