The world isn’t black and white,
The world isn’t wrong and right.
The world isn’t lose or win,
The world isn’t grace or sin.
The zebra isn’t black.
The zebra isn’t white.
There’re two stories to be told,
And neither have it right.

Gray, which composes
A whole swath of pigments,
Is the color by which we live.

There’s a good and a bad,
A joyful and a sad.
There’s love and there’s hate,
Like scribbles across a clean slate.
Can’t you see, can’t you see
That to view truthfulness,
Brave you must be—
You must open both eyes,
For both of your eyes,
Enjoy telling you lies.
They lie about what things are,
And what they can’t be.
They lie about the world, life, hope—
And they do so indifferently.

Open your eyes,
Open your eyes,
Take in the gray skies.

So you see, you see,
That even though the zebra
Appears black to you,
And white to me,
Neither of us can see clearly.
The zebra isn’t black.
The zebra isn’t white.
The zebra’s gray.