Down by the bank where the old creek flows is a roll of old pine shacks where the different folks grow.
Not the same as me with their skin so dark this is where my story starts.
The summer is getting longer and so is my time I sit in my room to help pass it by.
As night time falls with the winds at blow.
The whispers flow along the cotton.
It was time for a story that has been forgotten.
I crawled down to the bank to sneak a peek. To find the rest of the story I seek.
As the bond fire blazed through the night.
I knew the story would be told.
On how their own people traded them for gold.
I always got a piece of the story here and there.
I never got to catch it all.
I knew it would be scary and make my skin crawl, but it’s no matter I don’t care at all.
This would be the night no matter what they say.
I would finally understand how they were turned into slaves.
As I seen them sitting there with their bodies cut and broke.
I couldn’t help but feel this was a sick joke.
How could man be so humble in owning another man just to make him struggle.
It’s hard to understand so hard to see. Didn’t God make all his children to be free?
I bow my head, and dare utter that man would pick man over their skin color.
As I grow old I hope to see no matter what the color all men are equal and will be set free.