The Struggle Is Our Art
The Struggle Is Our Art
The world is our studio, gallery, museum
With our lives we paint the new day.
Our thoughts, words, deeds and actions
like hammer and chisel shape reality.
Our poems are as gentle as the spring falling rain
But also as terrifying as the raising flood waters.
Our brushes are ready to sweep away the dirt
that oppressors try to heap upon us.
Our song like the mighty thunder rolls
Alarming all that hides beneath the rocks.
Chasing it out into the light of day.
Away, Away, Away
The chorus sings against injustice.
The battle lines are drawn our erasers are ready
to clean the pages of mistakes.
Our dance a million feet non-stopping
To those who oppose, We are their danger and they shall know
No ba, ba, helpless little sheep are we
No stay in your place people
No going back from where we came
No saying, “Yes, Sir,” “Yes Sir”
For no sir you are not our baby.
And if you try to turn the clock back, we will smash the clock.
The struggle is our art.
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