Color doesn't mean anything when you're flying under night's wing
Lex Zaleta
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Color doesn't mean anything when you're flying under night's wing
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SHADOW PEOPLE
The shadow people are my friends;
They keep it real, they don’t pretend.
The shadow people are my friends;
We pick up our lives when day ends.
We’re all the same shade in the dark;
When the dog bigot loses his bark.
Shadow people play in the park.
Shadow people play in the park.
In the cold light of day,
They don’t have much to say.
They’d always have their way,
If night was here to stay,
Where black and white turn gray,
When colors fade away,
When shadow people play.
The shadow people have it right;
They keep it hidden in plain sight.
The shadow people have it right;
They play all of their games at night.
Color doesn’t mean anything
When you’re flying under night’s wing.
Shadow people teach you to sing.
Shadow people teach you to sing.
In the cold light of day,
They don’t have much to say.
They’d always have their way
If night was here to stay,
Where black and white turn gray,
When colors fade away,
When shadow people play.
The shadow people rule the land;
They have a firm and steady hand.
The shadow people rule the land;
Their every move is carefully planned.
Brothers and sisters at sunset,
Paying off prejudice’s debt;
Leaving only small stuff to sweat.
Leaving only small stuff to sweat.
In the cold light of day,
They don’t have much to say.
They’d always have their way
If night was here to stay,
Where black and white turn gray,
When colors fade away,
When shadow people play.
Copyright © 2003 Lex Zaleta
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