I wear our Blues to the table that tucks my knees against the underside
Because I’ve witnessed what we’re leaving for them, legacies of lies.
I’ve sat at the table, the children’s table, minding them for far too long
I’ve heard their tired voices arguing about who’s right or wrong.
They are not my future, but they are yours without a doubt.
You should sit and listen to the children’s table, so change can come about
They see blue as hopeful, I think, but only as hopeful as the Blues
We have gone and lost them a costly sum of what it means to choose.