Hallways sleep, where the real walks with stone feet,
and blank faces, simply lost in admiration.
Sun Ra from Saturn or skills from Portland,
Strange people, the ones that kept his mind from starving long.
We do it right by doing it wrong.
Mostly portrayed insane, but we stay strong.
“Now explain, What makes you so modest?”
I’m an artist if I knew I’d be a psychologist.
Actual facts, those teachers don’t love you.
Put your back against the wall, watch them all sit and judge you.
In a regular school filled with regular rules
From daydreamers to leaders, the art is bound to fail.
Let’s put it in a different place, and show them what’s real.
So they can contemplate and build their skill.
Teach them how to make their own color.
Picture, literature, and rhythm.
Where the… sound and feel is oh so ultra,
and brick walls explode, brimming with culture.
Its R.E.A.L., the school of hard thinkers believe.
Because everybody’s built to achieve.
I want to be a universal thinker, like those who stepped… Higher,
Aristotle or Cornell West.
Through the fire, Paul Dunbar or Malcolm X.
It’s real and on God… I’m trying to be next.
My homey Dante’ said, “Don’t focus on the future…”
He went to inferno where its seven times crueler.
The lost circle. The first circle, confused with laughter…
Fortune tellers walkin’ with their heads turned backwards.
I stood… In the halls trying to find the former good,
Wanting the “real” to come back, I thought It never would.
The hurt, I couldn’t mass, to see so many mask…
It’s hard to tell what’s real… or what’s known.
“So sometimes I take the bus home, Just to touch strong”,
The art… In class I spent months GONE.
Asked my man, “how does a school of the ‘real’ sound?”
Where pure imagination is found…