A child is born with no state of mind.
I was born with a blank tongue,
blind to the ways of mankind

and running fresh as a new clock’s rhyme.
Tock tick fresh, with tip top lungs
a child is born. With no state of mind

I grew into white, such a tight clock-wind.
Howled and whooped through youth, strung
blind. To the ways of mankind

I found myself stiff and resigned.
But the beat and blues, thought and heart slung
me. A child was born to a new state of mind

when my step fell out of time. Behind
or off-beat in clock speak, flung
blind to the ways of white men’s kind.

A clock’s arms swing from its heart, so fine.
I lived so fast and died so young, son.
A child is born with no state of mind, blind
to the ways of mankind, of beats and binds.