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Oh when I think of the tears upon my brothers face the agony one must felt, to be treated less than a man, to be chained as a animal only to work through the hot brittle sun, oh but yet he died as a soldier upon the hanging tree, his woman treated as the out door whore, long suffering but yet stood as a man, in hopes of a change in his life, the human man, oh the long-suffering race, centuries despised, oppressed, Enslaved and lynched, haunted and killed by the hound dogs of the mask man face, denied a human rights, to live in a The swampy rivers and the mule that pulled the loaded wagon, cotton to the master house, and the black land of disinherited sold and bought, robbed of an inheritance, which was given by God. Oh the pain that reflects the hanging tree, and the mother who watched with tears upon her eyes, the helpless tribe. I the black tribe the Moses of de’ land call heaven gate.
And suddenly some secret beyond the heaven,
And unawares of the sanctuary of Gold,
De’ psalm of the image of a King,
and I can read the blue print, like large, black-lettered in the form of a bronze feet, oh but yet shall thy spirit flourish upon the earth,
The black stallion stands tall, and the King awaits at the door, and the scripts that was written in blood, oh far away this land call earthly law, I shall continue to follow the eastern light.
My hair white as wool, my feet black as a furnace.
I the prophets of prophet; I the spoken words of my father;
I great soldier of revolution, the black man the King
Of my Fathers palace; the blood within my brothers vein.
I the follower of great Kings, I have felt the pain of Satan,
but I shall continue to send, my brothers the spirit within
Me is the spirit that lies within the black man.