Freedom Before My Lost Brother
Freedom before my lost brother
They march before the rising sun with guns at six
We stand before sun down with signs of freedom
Who really marches to the same drum?
When my hand have been blown off for beat
The beat, the beat, the beat
As he races from the explosion of freedom in his chest
For freedom
To escape this tide of hate
That swept us slaves of red, white and blue
And he is nothing like before when hate took him away
He is a man at six and we are still children as adult
War took my hands and feet I am no solider
I fight for freedom not money
You fight so this tide will not cross-oceans and sands
We fight here for food and light
And light, to breathe, to die for family
Across the ocean hand my son an ak-47
And he will march and kneel before God for forgiveness
Hand my brother a ruger and he will stand in the shadows for American greed
Greed in the land of freedom and hope, black in the shadows
And mother can mend wounds here across the oceans she can only dial
Extensions.....
Of relief
Mother over there must know how to be doctor and surgeon, and warrior for the
Next
Generation to survive, to live
We cannot procreate; we are the ends of mankind
With bombs in the hands of babies
To extend our left hand of hate across the ocean, across towers of hope
We must all be the same here a million mile from each other
My skin dictates that I hate, be hated, I rape, be raped
I bleed red, white and blue
Watching in shock, disbelief as red, white and blue goes up in flames in the
Ashes of the wind just like you
Freedom can never come to me here before her with that torch
My mother across the ocean must be sending me a package of death to kill my
four father
Your four father because my complexion means that no one can see me
I am a lost brother, forgotten sister
Hated child with no hands, no hands in freedom
March me before television cameras, signs of peace, and words of love
I am still a lost brother............ before truth
But you knoe me so well..
From the the same box that caused my cousins in your land to be hung
Money means nothing here, Money means every thing beside her with the torch
Pass it to me so I may freedom---the truth
Copyright © Toya Williams | Year Posted 2006
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