Red Cotton

these pure hearted people slave for masters whose souls are dead rotten blood dripping from their fingers, filling baskets with red cotton they sleep on the hard floor of their crowded, torn shed half of the babies they have are born dead they wear the same tattered clothes throughout the whole year frozen on the inside by their soul's tears being tortured mercilessly, falling down from starvation it's disturbing to think, this was one of the foundations of our nation he sees despair in his six year old son's eyes neither of them know if they'll make it to see the sunrise none of them know what the next day will bring yet despite all of their pain they still sing with tear choked voices they sing through the sorrow they sing of freedom and hope for tomorrow