I wonder...
if it has completely, been torn to pieces
the name... the color of its true page...
We use to
work in fields of cotton
thorns cutting clear to bone
blisters, blood-sucking masters
We never did enough
always cried more... till one day-
we threw our souls in the air
said that is it... No more
No more met we got a beating
paddled down the river till we reached
our cells- a casket dipped in honey
those darn bees tore us to tears
To make matters worse
they threw salt in our wounds
said they had to teach us a lesson
made us cry the blues
like morrow would never come
I beat those stinking bees down
covered them with sweetness
the kind of kindness that kills
mimics a wise mans ego, ya know
they said they ain't seen no man
run so quickly, as Master himself
running from honey bees cant be pleasant
I wouldn't think...
I ran too
fast as my feet could carry me
I never went back
not even for a peek
I married me a woman
had ten youngins...
each had a name
raised them to respect
even the hated people
Ain't no sense in dreaming
of gold, and sweetness
if there ain't no love involved
Ya know... I learned something
way back when...
Learned there is no sweeter love
than that which is received above
(c)
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