When I heard the word JUSTICE,
I thought of something cool,
Like water, air,
Or even the harmattan,
I thought of something real,
Like the blue of the sky,
And the green of the ground in sweet supple Summer...
Society sells water now,
And the air we breathe has thickened
(With what? You tell me.)
We face the backside of the harmattan,
(The sun in our throats, the dust at our feet, what can't you see?),
So when I hear the word JUSTICE,
I think of the faded blues and colorless leaves,
I think of it as Just Ice,
Ice so cold it burns.