Accent

In the land of opportunities
Not everything is what it seems
Another seed born in duality
I’m the bastard son without a name.

I look at the way I speak
And I can see I don’t belong
I look at the color of my skin
And I can see I don’t belong
I look at the way I think
And I can see I don’t belong
My theological and political view
And I make sure I don’t belong.

So stop me at the air port
With hands up facing a wall
Say this routinely and random
To contradict any sense of being logical.

I look at the way you speak
And I can see I don’t belong
I look at the way you look at me
And I can see I don’t belong
I look at the way you think
And I can see I don’t belong
Your theological and political view
And you make sure I don’t belong.

When you hint you have a problem with my kind
You mean you have a problem with all of us
Whatever you mean having a problem with my kind
I’m the bastard son of the land your people raped.

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