To the left is white To the right is black Yet I'm here in between. Voices shouting, Crying, Lying. My path is yet unseen. They pick up arms They threaten war My single voice unanswered. I cry for peace I cry for love A razored-edge dancer. The buttons gleam On both their desks Both hovering their hands. A world at risk and withheld breath, Prayers for our great lands. Childish I say to thee That grown men do such things. No care for the pain and loss That such a decision brings. That pain is not their own. That loss to them means nothing. It's all a game they want to play. Who owns the most, Who seems the best? "Neither!" as I say. What good is this When the land turns black? When the rivers can't run clean? Still they posture Still they dance. Uncaring broken men they seem.