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A True Story... kinda

A True Story... kinda

Bloodied tears
drawn in anger
from the mouth of a stranger
with her face down in the dirt

I stood amidst all of her danger
amid all of her strangers
to stop at least some of the hurt

I defended a whore
outside of a clinic
who wished it were her life
that she could now give

Or perhaps in a prison,
I'm defending a faggot
who's just a man who wanted to live

Amid all of the convicts,
on the ground in the darkness
I'm torn as they're trying to tear him apart

I know they're imprisoned
We're all in the darkness,
but they could still free their minds and their hearts

So I picked the man up
in Opp, Alabama
who said I should leave
cause I'm a nigga like him

I said "Exactly!"
with the two of us standing
The only two black men
against a mob, but again

I saw I defended
a man who was Arab
but probably Sikh
with a bloodied turban

A Mexican spic
on the edge of a border
trying to ironically flee
from the pain he was in

I took the man's hand
and led him across
the border that was guarded and mined

It wasn't guarded by soldiers
or barbwired fences
It was guarded by a thought in our minds

I walked with the whore, the spic, and the nigger
with the faggot, the Sikh as we cried

The mob was dispersed, still we stayed on the border
thinking it's hell on either side