On dreaming in colours and light
Hadda be the happening should be what it oughta be happening
Perhaps it was cursed to collapse, happening not, and it's only too much dreaming
Never it has been so close to all the ideals that appeal
The ordeals they are damned from the beginning, and we just kneel to the misdeals
while we live and fight with all the damnation, these existence's salience.
Hadda be the red and crimson that bleed and coarsen
just tinct lightly and allow other shades, to a little extent, be brightened
It's so bloody cherry but would it be so pristine with green
Been so long the verdure has been so unclean.
Hadda be the colours colour correctly
Hadda be black the black, and white the white but the palette it is
of all the scattering, squeezed fucked-up paints and the confused overused brushes.
Hadda be the neon light shining everywhere; the shimmering pale blue dot
might clear up a bit and we can declare we do have some light to ignite our thought.
Hadda be the colours so true, the days be always new.
Rage Against The Machine
Hadda be them born in my generation