| In the context of knowing the winds
|
| And the vortex of growing pains
|
| The games seem larger
|
| The more knowledge you obtain
|
| That changes the stage
|
| Not the crude rounds of the actor’s brain
|
| Things ain’t changed
|
| The plays' the same
|
| And you just have to play your part
|
| And if life’s the aim
|
| In a decent way
|
| Indecent in all its ways it starts
|
| It isn’t age
|
| It’s neglection
|
| When intersectionality turns to rage
|
| The infection which seems to consolidate every age
|
| Like rereading the same page
|
| About a different complexion
|
| And how position rules the day
|
| And how separation ain’t the way
|
| But bonding takes a lot of affection
|
| Things ain’t changed
|
| Except which master reigns
|
| And the master has you play your part
|
| It’s all the same
|
| When you strip away
|
| The progress that dictates where you start
|
| Through the subsequent notions
|
| Of what it really means to turn a page
|
| Without gauging the sincerity of your disdain
|
| In a different way
|
| The status is obtained
|
| But to be alive is playing the game
|
| The players change
|
| But the rules remain
|
| So maybe you should play your part
|
| My will’s my bane
|
| From which I could ascertain
|
| That maybe I should make up a start
|
| Things ain’t changed
|
| Except which master reigns
|
| And the master will have you play your part
|
| To the lives we aim
|
| In a decent way
|
| But indecently in all its ways it starts |