a sheep in all this hate

She sitting so white.
She sitting so white.
In the nice of the night that is the classroom in snow,
not blowing bright. I was alright.
I was not caring about you.
But you keep looking toward me for answer and
for question. Is it love or is it empathy.
All the rest of the sheep want to murder me,
but you just stay and stand so neutral.
You stand so neutral.
Yet, the paint of sheep of course,
is falling off.
Who are you?
Why do you question me?
Which such eyes?
Do you know the story you tell
which such pretty yet torn eyes.
I am not a narrative of destruction
and you are not going to tell me, who
I be. I  have got to be.
Me, and you sheep, you sheep are in rage.
Rage, in rage.
Yet, you follow the dreams of yourself to not notice,
you're murdering yourself. Yes, you murder yourself,
YOU DO, when you look at anyone and define identify an
identity for them, when you ain't even,you ain't even, know em
at all.
I see you ten feet tall looking down on five foot feet walkers and
you talkers and your whiskers and wankers are so turned against the
color of true creativity and diversity.
So  turned against creativity and diversity.
You are.
So turned from the tide you so seek.
Archaeology ideally I do preach,
but blood and guns you seek.
To bring to an innocent man's peak,
with those eyes.
Only for one that are falling off.
The end of a sheep in all this hate.
You know all is for ransom,
you know everyone is for ransom.
As you are not a sheep in all this hate.
Yet you look at me with such beautiful untempered eyes.
Not a sheep in this hate,
just tigers.