You could be a Gentile
Or you could be a Jew
An immigrant alien
In a country that is new
You could be a member
Of a tribe called the Sioux
You could be a mirror
For others to look through
The sun could turn you brown
It might burn you red too
A fever turns you yellow
The cold might turn you blue
Your face could be deathly white
If a ghost blurred your view
You could have green fingers
Go through a purple patch or two
And think you’re in the pink
Till clouds of grey cover you
You could be an orphan
Where fields never grew
Because of Agent Orange
With your future overdue
You could be a refugee
With no home to go to
Wandering the wasteland
Where the winds of war blew
You could be one of many
Or one of an ethnic few
At rest in your own nest
When in the cuckoo flew
You could hear the daily news
Is it propaganda, is it true
Is there a Big Brother plot
A conspiracy you never knew
Is there a secret robot army
An underground Babylon zoo
Are you waiting for answers
At the back of the queue
Or in the middle of a riddle
While rumours continue
Your mood could turn black
Leaving you without a clue
Caught up in a riot race
What then would you do ?
Lyndon Queripel
