I do have a color problem.
I see everything in black.
When I walk at night,
I don't see no neon light.
And at Christmas,
nothing for me turn white.
I see everything in black.
Black dungeons holding black bodies
to be sold for a price.
I do have a color problem.
I come from a black womb,
enter a black world
filled with black devils
doing everything black that
was bad.
In the blackest corner of my mind,
I created nothing of color.
My soul filled with devils,
sowing seeds of ugliness.
Black magic,
casting shadows of past pains.
Ugliness prevails.
Black as sin.
Yet I entered a black flesh
that conceived a black child
who was taught in a black slate
by way of a blackboard.
I learned about the black market,
bodies sold on auction blocks,
money sold for more than its value.
Yet, I do have a colour problem.
Bad luck keep passing my way
by way of a black cat,
so I write a letter and blackmail it,
blacklisted for speaking about dark con tinent,
my mind like a sponge, absorbing,
yet like a mirror reflecting.
The rain clouds have
colored the rainbow.
I am the
black sheep in my family,
yet I do have a color problem.
I see everything black.
remember them telling me
black is not a color.
Color is not black.
Not cool was black.
Black makes sense.
Black makes no sense.
No sense being black, not making...
I just have a blackout.