Pantoum by Charles Mingus

In a society that calls itself sane,
someone has been escaping reality.
Music, look at your history. Man
sounds sharp to me. Sounds like
someone has been escaping reality
on his hands and knees. A pure genius
sounds sharp to me, sounds like
cut bleeding lips. Night after night
on his hands and knees, a pure genius.
Put the gloves on; let’s see who’s
cut. Bleeding lips, night after night,
training for a bullfight.

Put the gloves on. Let’s see who’s
a drum. Is an instrument not a donkey
training for a bullfight?
The piano waves his arms and yells.
A drum is an instrument, not a donkey
the white man says he came from.
The piano waves his arms and yells,
“He can’t like me, because I keep time!”
The white man says he came from
music. Look at your history, man.
He can’t like me, because I keep time
in a society that calls itself sane.