Looking to Jesus.

Slowly crawling by
looking all around
seeing the color pass
the world spinning round.
Their lives are shades of black and white
their voices hold no tune
their eyes shine with no glimmer
and to joy, they are immune.
Screeching piercing cries ring
are heard by one and all
they don't know what to stand for
so to anything, they will fall.
They hold stone and wood
which is also black and white
and even when no response comes
they worship with spite.

Colors walk on past the grey
but do they stop to listen?
To the echo's of the hurt and pain
and see the eyes that glisten.

Hands that come to pick them up
are rejected with a hate
and still the echo's resound
of their everlasting fate.

Other grey come alive
as they reply the song
and with the other colored ones
they walk in joy along.



It means something, you have to tell
sometimes in a whisper, others a yell
Its all one big mystery to those who can't see the picture
We can only see the colors beneath, in a tangle and mixture.
You're being used, to pass it on to the grey
to become color, we always hope and pray.