I see the world in black and white,
In the sharp staccatos of workmen’s hammer on nails,
On nails, on nails,
On streams of signs strung, hanging, overtaking,
Overwhelming, crushing, breaking,
I see the world in black and white.

I see the world in black and white,
In sharp staccatos of workmen’s nails,
That pound and pound the signs, the classifiers,
That make the world so colorless, so tired,
I see the world in black and white.

I see the world in careful measures,
Of time, of life, of love and hope,
That separate, that split,
That count memories, define extremities,
That organize and slit.
I see the world in careful measures.

I see the world in playful rythms,
That dance, that twirl, that step, jump, hop,
That bring a different language, varied vibe,
That bump the smooth faces, the flat places,
That make the misty night alive.
I see the world in playful rythms.

I see a world in black and white,
Where a place for black and white belongs,
Where contradiction is convention,
Where harmony makes song.