Who knows why some paint the world in black and white.
Does the color gray make the world all right?
The red-stained hands, the blue-stained cheeks,
The palest faces, tannest freaks,
All the same, just shades of gray;
The blood, the tears, they drift away.
The ashen faces of those who died,
Showed murky gray with black blood, dried;
The blood, the sweat, the tears and toil,
Just more gray drops on black soil.
A depressing moment, painted in watercolors.
An oppressing picture, framed in white forever.
Go green with envy, red with rage,
The colors blur, they always fade;
Who knows why some paint the world in black and white.
Perhaps it's to keep misery out of sight.