Off to the funeral making cola knots
We sit and reminisce about the past and in her voice only sadness her only son taken from her
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us

Second generation blues or points of view not listened to
Different worlds and different rules of allegiance

Claiming to the bible and a spatula the memory of the way things were
I do not see how I cannot smile I deal with anger all the time

You’ll win, what they did to the black men

In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?

I walk this mountain tired of lunity and belligerence
This told me what a flat wave is getting me down

I want to stamp on the face of every young policeman today
And break the fingers of every old judge to cut off the feet of every ballerina I can

So I decide
I decide
I pretend that there’s nothing wrong

The teeth of this world take me home and every day I must ask myself, where, where, where

Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?

In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us