Category Archives: online

Don’t Plan For Worst Case Scenarios

“Worst Case Scenarios and Why You Should Never Plan For Them”

 

Someone just told me they plan for the worst case scenario, just in case it happens. I believe they think they are doing the right thing by planning for the worst outcome, but I say: planning for the worst outcome is the absolute worst thing anyone could ever do to their future.

Here is why:

Exactly where do you think the future comes from? Do you think it will be an accident when it gets here? Do you think it’s planned out before hand, as if we are on a roller coaster ride with no control of how it’s going to turn out? Do you think there is force in the universe that takes our desires and weighs it against what we deserve and decides what we should get one way or another?

I’ve heard it said in many different ways, but it always comes down to the same principal. When we think about the worst thing that could happen to us, we are creating the possibility for that exact outcome. And our thoughts affect our future and, not only that, they affect the futures of those around us. For example, in one case alone, our thoughts affects the outcome of our desires and our dreams and the very things that we spent my time and energy to create, but there’s more than just us depending on the outcome of our future. Family, co-workers, friends, teammates, lovers, and everyone else who wants to see you be a happy and successful person.

Instead of thinking of the worst that could happen to us, we should spend our valuable time in a much wiser way: such as, thinking about all the great things that are going to happen because we achieved the goal we had in mind. Again I point out: We think of the good things that will happen because we succeeded and even out-did our wildest expectations.

Our thoughts are not on winning or losing. They’re about the wonderful things that will happen because we won the day. Will we become rich or famous or travel the world or a combination or all three at once.

But, I can hear you say: I think of all that stuff, too. I’m just planning on the worst in case scenario just in case something happens.

Well, like what? What might happen?
And I warn you to be careful because you’re thoughts have unmeasurable, an possibly unlimited power. So, only do this if you are sure your thoughts do not affect the future and, even then, only do it for a second. But, what type of plan do you have and for what worst outcome are you preparing? How many “worst happenings” do you plan for? Does it go as far as death and do you have your life insurance paid up?

Well, that’s exactly what I mean.
So, let’s face the facts. You either believe that we can create our version of reality and get to experience the things we want or you don’t. You believe that we are either in control of our life or we’re not. You believe that God either wants you to be a prosperous person overflowing with all your desires or he doesn’t.

You either believe that our thoughts have some power beyond the pictures and sounds they make in our head or you don’t. You either believe we are an important part of the universe or we are just something in the universe?

So which is it? Are we a part of it or are we just something in it?

I want you to know that your thoughts do affect the universe because they are part of the universe, and not just some part of the universe, you are an important part, a creating part, a thinking part, a deciding part. You are alive and your thoughts are alive. Act like it. You are not a victim of what happens to you, you are a creator of what happens to you and to the universe.

Fear, Imagination, And No-One Really Knows You’re Alive

“Fear, Imagination, And The Fact That No-One Really Knows You’re Alive”

To push through the distractions of life and ignore the modern concerns, to willingly focus our attention on being ourselves, to offend people, to be offended, to learn things about ourselves we don’t want to know, to be put in our place, to have friends, to lose friends, to be part of something, to be alone, to walk into places that are too loud and too crowded, and to interact with people when we don’t want to, to learn a truth we might never understand, is the reason we are alive.

Feelings and emotions are the biggest part of our lives for a reason and they mean something. They mean we’re alive. Emotions are powerful and crippling and long-lasting, and wonderful. Learn to understand them and we learn to understand ourselves. We shouldn’t stop living just because it’s uncomfortable sometimes. Live more now, learn more now, be more now because you are alive now. Someday you will be dead and that’s going to be one more thing that we’re not gonna wanna do, so we have to act while we’re alive and do things that push us further than we’ve gone before, learn new things, go to new places, see new people, be a real living person for the little time we have left.

Safe places might as well be coffins. They separate us from the real emotions we feel just as real life begins to happen. Pain, suffering, sorrow, sadness, nervousness, confrontation, irritability, anger: things can not be avoided all the time, so we must learn and adapt to them and eventually we will gain more and more control until we overcome them. And we will learn to control them, if we want to be a better person. Dodge them, hide from them, go to the safe place and the emotions then control us.

Am I saying we’re a bad people if anxiety stops us from enjoying life? No. But we’ll enjoy more of our life and be more of the person we’d like to be if we allow ourselves out into the world and feel the uncomfortable reality of life.

Life is not all about being in a good place all the time. It’s also about the scary places just as much and the fears that come with those places. Yes, we realize anxiety is scary and it’s a real emotional response to a real world situation. It’s truly happening to us and we are right to feel the way we do. But, it doesn’t last forever. When it comes, it’s like a wave. Ride it out.

There is nothing fake or easy about it. There is no way to just get over it when it comes. Our anxieties and our fears can be controlled and we should practice controlling them every chance we get because we should want to overcome our fears.

Again, I’m not saying our emotions aren’t real, I’m saying they are not justified by reality. Just like the monster in our childhood closet. Were we scared? Sure. But was there a real reason to be? No. It was all in our mind.

Just like the dark, once we spent enough time in it, grew up in it, we learned there was no reason to be afraid. The same will happen with crowds, noises, places, and all the other things that make us feel anxiety and fear. It comes from the unfamiliarity of the situation. Just like sleeping alone in the dark causes all types of fear at first and we imagine all manner of things in the closet, under the bed, and lurking in the dark. It’s only our imagination working overtime.

The same things happen with crowds of people and new places. We imagine the people are thinking of us and talking about us. We imagine they are laughing at us, looking at us, pointing at us. We just know they remember every little thing we do and that we’re always on their minds. They just can’t wait until they get a chance to laugh at us again.

But, none of that is true. No one is thinking bad things about us. No one is laughing at us or pointing out our mistakes. No one is talking about that time we dropped our fork in the cafeteria. In fact, practically no one even knows we’re alive. And that’s the thing we should be afraid of, really. Going our entire lives and being afraid of our imagination and too scared to go to the store, so when we die no one even knew we were alive.

 

Minor Nine

I’ve written about my band before, but not often because writing and music are separate jobs and one definitely distracts from the other.  It’s complicated even more by scheduling and the splitting creative energies between the two. However today is different.

We were in the studio yesterday recording our newest song and getting ready for the show in November at The Token Lounge in Michigan.  This show is one we are proud of and excited to play. Many grat names are going to be playing on the stage with us.

 

Joe Retta will be there with his band “Heaven and Earth” and if that’s not enough to get someone excited, maybe having a listen to my band will get you there.

You will find many of our songs here:   Minor Nine

Reverse Image (part 3)

Reverse Image
part 3
by Thadd Presley

What Delilah saw at that moment frightened her. The top half of her mother’s face changed. First, her pupils dilated, but not together. Each one on its own grew to the maximum size and then shrunk back down again. Her nose flared much like a horse’s would in the spring. Delilah stood and stepped away from the table. Her mother had become someone else.

She didn’t know why this was happening, but she thought it might be a stroke. Her mother was still young. Thirty-eight was young for anyone to die.

Clare saw a color of red that she never knew existed. It filled her vision and then doubled over on itself. She saw the walls of her world deepen and drown in the color. It was the color of murder, of hatred and sex and violence. God didn’t create this color to be seen and talked about. I was the last color anyone was ever to see. She knew deep in her heart that she was dying and it was a good thing.

“Mom. God.” Delilah screamed and ran to the breakfast counter where her cell phone laid. “911,” she screamed. “911.”
A woman had answered the emergency line before Clare knew what to say. “What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. My..she’s having a heart attack.”

“OK. Calm down. What’s your address.”

Delilah took a deep breath and answered all the questions.

Finally, there were sirens in the air.

The siren grew louder and closer. Too close for them to be for anyone but herself.

Clare opened her eyes. Red still covered everything and she still certain she would die. No one saw that and lived, she kept telling herself. No one could see that and live.

“Mom. Mom.”

The voice of her daughter was there in the red somewhere and that was somehow the worst part of it all. Why did she have to be involved?

The sirens stopped and doors slammed. The red was growing. It was outside now. Even the sky would be covered in red.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

No, Clare thought. If I hear you then the red will get you.

“Look at her eyes, Cap. What do you think happened?”

“Looks to be a serious case of subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

Delilah screamed. The next thing she saw was the kitchen floor.

“She’s coming around, Cap. You alright sweetheart?”

“My mom. She had a hemorrhage. Her brain.”

The paramedic sat down beside her and smiled. “Let’s sit up.” He helped her. “There now. Your mom is fine. It was scary for her and for you, but that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we don’t know why but she became extremely stressed and it busted a blood vessel in her eye. Both of them actually. She’s going to the hospital.”

“She’s OK?”

“Yes. Very OK.”

“I want to go with her.”

“That’s fine. You want to go ahead and stand up?”

Together, they managed to walk to the ambulance.

A moment of panic shot through Delilah’s chest when she saw her mother’s eyes. They were both filled with blood. Her mother looked like a zombie. Quickly, she snapped a picture and smiled.

“I got your good side that time.”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know how you can laugh at me. After what you’ve done. Being pregnant is hard enough on a family, but…”

“Pregnant? Mom!” For a moment, Delilah didn’t think she heard her right. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Who told you that?”
“Don’t lie to me. You already…”

“I’m not pregnant. You must have hit your head or something when you fell.” She looked at the paramedic who wishing he was invisible. “I’m not, I swear.”

Clare was visibly upset.

“We can settle this once we get to the hospital,” he told them. “There is a planned parenthood clinic there that offers free pregnancy tests. You can go from there. How’s that?”

“O.K.” Delilah quickly assented.

Clare didn’t say anything but nodded her head.

“Let’s get this rig on the road, Cap!”

Slowly, the ambulance made it’s way onto the street and ten minutes later they pulled in at Methodist Medical Center.
An hour later, mother and daughter sat together in the E.R. A negative pregnancy test sat in a paper cup, wrapped in a paper towel.

“But, I don’t understand why you thought I was pregnant in the first place?”

“You said you found out something this morning and I thought you meant…”

“Mom, jeez. I learned something from Youtube that’s all. Really, I should have realized it a long time ago.” She smiled. Her mother’s blood red eyes looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I love you, mom. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Well, child, that my job. It’s not this hard most of the time. What can I say? You’re a good kid.”

Ryan was escorted into the room by a nurse who was telling him that everything was going to be fine. “Clare is in no danger,” she said. “She just had a scare and fainted.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been one heck of a morning for all of us.”

Reverse Image (part 2)

Reverse Image

part 2

by Thadd Presley

 

When Lucas entered the room, the quiet atmosphere stopped him in his tracks before he could say anything. There was a furrow on his dad’s brow he’d not seen before and his mother’s face spelled out volumes of unspoken emotion. He hoped they weren’t talking about his spring semester grades. He brought them up at the end.

Dad spoke up first. “Would you mind explaining exactly what you’re talking about? Your mother and I don’t have all morning to play guessing games. This afternoon we can hash out all the details and decide what we will do.”

“Ryan Butress.” Mother sounded extra-weird to Lucas and for the first time that morning he and his sister looked each other in the eyes. “I’ll not hear more of that. I have all the time she needs and so do you. She will tell us what she wants, when she wants. And we will not decide what she does, she decides what she does. Understand?” When her husband didn’t answer right away, Clare started crying.

Delilah stood in the gaze of three stone serious faces and she didn’t know what to say. Lucas broke the silence before it became hysteria.

“What is going on?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s because I’m not wearing makeup.”

Dad looked up from his bowl of cereal. “Sweetie, I’m not mad and neither is your mother. We just want you to be alright.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Delilah answered. “I just want to think about how I’m going to tell you what I found out. It’s been staring me in the face for so long and for me to just realize it. I mean, it’s stupid that I didn’t see it before. Why didn’t one of you tell me? Did you not know?”

“How could we know?” Her mother asked. “I don’t sleep in your bed, I don’t go out with you when you stay over at Angela’s house.”

“Is that what happened?” Her dad asked.

“That’s not important.” Her mother answered. “What’s important is what happens now.”

“O.K. Fine.” He stood from the table. His left hand shook and that was a bad sign. It meant he was really pissed. Delilah didn’t understand why her mom was so angry. “I’m going to work before I get in over my head and say something I’ll regret. I love you all and I’ll be home by four if anyone wants to fill me in then.”

As soon as the Mercedes backed out of the driveway, Lucas took this chance to jump ship. “I’m going to the gym and then job hunting. Bye.”

His mother crossed the kitchen and hugged him. Then, she turned and took an apple from the basket. “Eat this on your way. You’ll need energy to workout.”

“Thanks, mom.”

After the kitchen cleared of the menfolk, the women of the house stood quietly. They stood at the sink and watched Lucas jog down the sidewalk until he was out of view, then they looked at each other.

“Why are you looking at me that way, mom? God, why is everyone is so weird this morning.”

“I’m just worried about you. We are worried. Your dad and I.”

“Mom. It’s not a big deal. Here, listen. I’ll try to explain.”

“No. I want you to listen. That’s all I want you to do right now.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down so we can talk.”

“Mom!!”

“Don’t you yell at me.” She said it quietly, but it was a command that Delilah knew to obey. She sat and waited for her mother to speak. “Now I only have one question and I want the truth. Who’s the father?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question. Who’s the…”

“I don’t know. Dad, I guess. Who else?”

The words her daughter spoke didn’t make sense to her. They had meant something, but they quickly turned into something else before they reached her ears. Something like red worms burrowing through the dirt. Worms that ate the all the bad words once they left the mouth and spoiled in the open air.

2016 Third Debate Strategy

Trump’s Third Debate Strategy

by Thadd Presley

 

Trump has built a large platform from which he can choose a number of topics to talk about, joining it ever so tightly with his slogan “Make America  _______  Again.” Fusing Safe, Rich, and Great together like a giant chicken pot pie for the Conservative  soul, he throws in a hefty side dish of “Smart Trade” to tempt a few more to the table, but he has proven time and time again he is not just talk.

He has pushed the U.N. and NATO to adapt new policies, he has pushed for new strategies on destroying ISIS both on the war front, on the Internet, and the humanitarian front, and he has spoken out about the Pentagon’s policy for announcing troop movements weeks and even months before striking. There is no doubt that Trump has the mentality and mental capacity to be president of the United States of America. There are serious issues that still bother many people, though, and they are not simple, shallow differences in opinion. They have become wide gaps, engraved with precision for decades between Republican and Democrats, slicing through religious values and secular views, erupting in violent clashes where the lines between race, income, and gender meet.

While each side seems to want completely different worlds for their children to live, there are many similarities. Everyone agrees on a few things they would like their children to have: jobs, safety, freedom to worship, love, and pursuit happiness. It is not hard to find those who are voting for the next generation, listening to the debate not for the next four years, but the next 400 years. What kind of world do you want?

Strained tensions and malicious thoughts are not good for anyone. Mudslinging makes everyone dirty.  A population stressed out, over saturated with drama, lies, sex, and crime are not going to be able find a quiet moment to reflect on what they really think or feel.  In other countries there is a scheduled time before the election when no one can campaign. I think we need that here in the USA. No one can make a decision like the POTUS with all the din and banging going on around us.

It’s to a heavy a subject; one that will not be solved or rightly discussed in a matter of 90 minutes divided into two minute sound bites.  For the upcoming third debate Trump should radically change strategies. He’s held so many rallies and visited so many cities, providing ample opportunity for the average citizen to stream his speeches online and learn where he stands on everyday concerns.  He’s covered everything that’s worth covering and even uncovered much of what should have been left buried, but his policies are easy to find.

In the last debate, Trump brought up Bill Clinton’s exploits and the backlash has been many women coming forward to accuse him of sexual misconduct as well. So, what can Trump truly do now except wait for Nov. 8th and watch the Live coverage along with the rest of the districts and counties in our fair country?

The debate is not going to sway voters. It’s far too late for that. A year and a half is too long to hold an opinion and not have it form completely. Most people believe they can size a person up in a few minutes and know whether or not they like them.

Trump should try to take some of the pressure off the voters, off the moderators, and allow everyone relax a little bit. He should make the audience laugh, like Ronald Reagan used to do. Trump could drop some Archie Bunker quotes on Hillary.  Maybe, even, go so far as to call her a Dingbat call Obama a Meathead.  Some of the lines that Archie Bunker used were racist, of course they were; they were mean, yeah; but they were thought-provoking and they made everyone smile a little bit inside.

Here’s a couple Archie Bunker quotes I’ve always liked:

“You Liberals play the victim so well, I’m surprised you don’t carry your own body chalk.”

“I see the unemployment on the streets. You got your winos who you can’t get off the ground, you got your hop heads who you can’t get back on the ground, and you got your hookers bein put outta work by the regular girl givin it away for free.”

“If you liberals keep gettin’ your way – we’re all gonna hear one big loud flush. The sound of the U.S. of A. goin’ straight down the toilet.”

There are so many more way to be a good president than making the other person look bad.

Shallow Grave (part 1)

Shallow Grave

(part 1)

by  Thadd Presley

The wind blew out of the woods and though the window, ruffling the curtains, heightening my awareness of the strangely warm night. I had been writing for three hours every night for the past week, feeling more at home at my desk than I had in months. I was becoming more involved in my writing and the newest character, Markus, was finally going to escape the town and the evil I’d created for him so long ago in the short stories written in my youth. The writing had suddenly become effortless and each scene fell out of my mind so easily that I didn’t realize I’d slipped back into an ongoing story I never finished. Actually, I’ve hadn’t tried to finish the story and for over a decade I stayed away from it, dodging every scene that formed in my mind. But tonight, the click-clack of the typewriter keys calmed and somehow soothed the story out of me. I remembered a time when the typewriter was the only thing that quieted the voices in my head. The voices and scenes that returned to me tonight  were directly from the origin of my stories which took place in the same fictional town.

Lately, the voices for these long lost stories had become so loud that they were nothing more than a constant noise I couldn’t escape. I’d written nothing new in so long I was beginning to worry. I knew the only relief from the burden was getting the stories out of my head and onto the paper that I hoped would hold them forever.

Being a professional writer, I often took my writer’s curse in stride and learned how to use it to my advantage. I always told myself that I was lucky to have these voices, although it was sometimes troublesome, it was part of being a writer and, knowing that, I welcomed it.

In my work, it never seemed strange to hear voices and write down what they told me. Many of the voices came through as dialog, but others told me about their lives, their families, and I saw it as my job to document what they said. In some ways, in many ways, I was a journalist and biographer for the people and places that resided in my heart and mind. I made it my life’s work to tell the stories of those that lived and died in my head.

Does this seem strange? It might seem lunacy to those who don’t write stories, create music, or perform any other kind of art. Also, I realized that it’s not just artists who hear voices. I think most all of us have a nagging voice in our head. After all, my thoughts come through in the form of a sound. My ideas have never appeared before my mind’s eye on a computer screen. The voices, the people, the words become part of a process that drives the ideas that make  life worth living.

I always heard the voices and for a long time I didn’t mind having these strange people living in my head. It all changed when I was in the seventh grade. It occurred to me suddenly that I didn’t know if the voices were other versions of myself or if they came from somewhere outside of me. I decided I wanted to be a writer around that time and I’m not sure why, but the voices had much to do with the decision.

Whatever reason it came about, all I can say is that it’s become my career and I’ve been very lucky to have a job that I mostly enjoy. After all, not many people get to document the lives and secrets of imaginary people.
My love for writing has been very strong ever since, but I was often hesitant to write about the depravity of some lives and the gruesome themes of others. It was a good friend of mine during college who told me that it was a gift and I’d be a fool to not follow every trail and embrace it, no matter where it took me.

Years ago, before I realized what my future was going to be, I tried to talk it over with my best friend. I’d already told him the story before, but it never came out the way I intended. Perhaps, he thought I was trying to brag about my chance to publish n a back door fashion and that might have been a tad bit true, but mostly, I think, he thought I was lying. Then one night, I finally got it all out to him.

“Greg,” Allen shouted one night while we were drinking in the local college bar, “it’s time to show your talent. Come on and just publish the novel. You said yourself that it’s finished. What are you scared of? You chicken or…” He didn’t want to continue because we were friends and he knew it wasn’t his place to dictate my career, but he knew me well enough to call me on my bullshit.

“I’m not chicken. I just don’t know if I should do it. My mom’ll want a copy and she’ll not understand why I’d write something like that. It’s not my style at all.”

“Do you want to be a big time writer or not?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I want to be published, but I don’t want people to think I’m a weirdo or become someone who thinks of evil shit all the time. It’s bad enough to be typecast as a horror writer when there’s so much more to write about.”

He only smiled at me.

“Everyone knows there’s more to a writer than what he writes.”

It’s always been hard to argue with Allen, because he always knew me so well and I he usually had my best interest at heart. “But, my mom.”

“But my mom,” he mocked. “But my … What the fuck does she have to do with this? You are the writer. She knows the talent you have. Believe me, she’ll understand. I think she’d be more disappointed if you didn’t follow your dreams because of what you thought she would think.” He laughed then. “She knows it’s only a story. It’s not like it’s a biography.” He took a moment to finish his pint. “She’ d want you to publish and realize your dream. She’d want you to be happy.”

But, he was wrong on one point. It was a biography. A biography of someone in my head and that person is part of me. So, in a small way, the stories are my biography. I shrugged the thought off and took a drink of my beer.  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said. “I just don’t want her to be shocked when she reads it. For God’s sake Allen, it’s the weirdest story I’ve ever written.”

“But you have a publisher ready to roll.”

“Everybody has a publisher ready to roll. It’s call Amazon. They’ ll publish anything on demand.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve got an income stream waiting to be utilized and you’re…”

“Yeah, I’m behind on rent. Just say it.”

“Damn it, she’d want you to do this. Imagine if she knew you were afraid of publishing a story because you thought she’d not like it. She’s a grown woman and has probably read books just as weird.”

“I know.” My excuses were running low at this point and I needed the money.

“Then quit wasting time. The moon is full and the devil is waiting.”

“Don’t say it like that. The voices are not the devil.”

“Well, then, correct me if I’m wrong. Last time I talked to you, didn’t you say that someone spoke to you out of the darkness and promised you fame and fortune? I think you said that the voice said anything you want could be yours.”

“Yes, but that was just my imagination. I’d been awake for days writing on the novel and probably having delusions. It was probably just sleep paralysis.”

“But, you did it. Didn’t you? You listened to the voice and now the public is waiting to buy your book. Money in hand.”

Slowly I took the knife out of my pocket. “I did it with this, you know.”

“Tell me again. Exactly what you did. I want to be rich too.” He was holding his empty glass up to signal the waiter. It seemed as if he was getting ready to hear the story for the first time.

“I’ve told you twice already. It’s just not something I like to –”

“I want to hear it again. Please tell me.” He ordered us each a pint each and when they were  in front of us we took them to a dark, corner booth. He was waiting for me to begin, so I downed half the pint and began the story for him.

Thadd Presley parody of “Bad Company”

A bit egotistical (ego testicle) of me to write a parody with my name in it, but I have to get these things out of my head so I can move forward into new territory.

This little ditty is Bad Company from the band Bad Company. I know Five Finger Death Punch recorded a cover version, but I’m going Old School because I am OS.

 

 

Short stories, always being spun
Best of me, oh is never done
I was born, notebook in my hand
Behind a pen I make my final stand

That’s why they call me
Thadd Presley I came to write
Thadd Presley til the day I day

Novel Goals, deserve all that I’ve caused
Closed the book and threw away the sun
Now these lines, they all bear my name
What I write is my claim to fame

I can here them say
Thadd Presley and I won’t deny
Thadd Thadd Presley until the day I die

Hey, hey

Thadd Presley, I came to write
Thadd PResley til the day I die

Tell me you don’t know how to read
But I’m Thadd Presley
It’s the way I play my words are dirty
Oh some have come across me

Have a Cigar (parody)

I’m sure you know how parodies work. Read the lyrics to the music video. I love Pink Floyd and listen to their music all the time, which is probably why I hear their songs in my head. So, here it be: the parody



Duck in here, dear boy, was that a star?
Was it a cop car? That just passed by
You’ll probably wanna hide
You better not run or fight
They’d love to shoot you
Well I’ve always had a deep respect
And I mean that most sincere
The Blacks are just fantastic
That is really what I think
Oh By the way, my skin’s Pink
And they claim all blacks are the same, boy
We call profiling a race a shame
We just got out
We heard about the shoot out
You gotta get the word out
You owe it to your people
They’ve kill so many we can hardly count
If everyone was just green
They couldn’t tell us apart
It’d be a helluva start
We wouldn’t be such monsters
If we all acted like a human being
And they claim all the blacks are the same, boy
We call profiling a race a shame