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I was born to two immigrants |
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Who knew why they were here |
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They were happy to pay taxes |
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For the schools and roads |
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Happy to be here |
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They took it seriously |
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The second job of citizenry |
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My mother went campaigning door to door |
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And holding to her hand was me |
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I was just a girl in a room full of women |
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Licking stamps and laughing |
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I remember the feeling of community brewing |
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Of democracy happening |
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But I suppose like anybody |
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I had to teach myself to see |
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All that stuff that got lost |
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On its way to church |
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All that stuff that got lost |
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On its way to school |
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All that stuff that got lost |
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On its way to the house of my family |
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All that stuff that was not lost on me |
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Teach myself to see each of us |
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Through the lens of forgiveness |
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Like we're stuck with each other (god forbid!) |
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Teach myself to smile and stop and talk |
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To a whole other color kid |
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Teach myself to be new in an instant |
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Like the truth is accessible at any time |
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Teach myself it's never really one or the other |
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There's a paradox in every paradigm |
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I was just a girl in a room full of women |
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Licking stamps and laughing |
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I remember the feeling of community brewing |
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Of democracy happening |
