Yes, it does.
From dawn to dusk.
From dust to dust.
He asked that I carry on his work.
Until I too decay into dust.
Life goes on.
The best we can do is teach what's learned;
pass it on.
And hope for the better it makes a change as others carry it on.
Much, if not all of what he owned is now mine.
I get to decide how to use it, in my time.
There was a man, a black man,
who entered a white house.
He wanted to repaint it but the house resisted.
Four years he coated but only the color white stuck to it.
After four years, he gave up trying and thereafter was subjugated and consumed by its lightness.
He lived in this house for four more years, waking up every morning unable to remember his name.
All he knew was this white house.
After 8 years, he packed his bags, gathered his family and was ready to moved on.
From the driveway, he looked back at the house and felt ashamed:
knowing he'd been defeated.
For 8 years that house refused another color's paint.
They're ALL angry at me.
But they're angrier at him.
Even in the grave.
For he gave power to one such as me!
And they know I will change that paint!
Yes, life goes on.
But it must change.
