life, did spring, from blood, and love in twain
borne, of grief, the town, was built on pain
two, men loved, were lynched, and watching they
did, nothing, to stop, the two men hang
his grave did sprout the courthouse steps
and his became the cruel jailer's nest
bound, to their se'prate
graves, hundred lonesome
years, hundred yards a-
way, always longing
hate, inherited, and coded
deep, within our genes, passed on and
on, our unjust soul, will hang us
all, when justice calls, and so we fall
wake unto death oh my lovely and
rise unto life and find me and
walk as alive beside me now
walk out of town beside me
now, they fade, from the scene
the town turned mold and did cleave
rot, as a tooth, and now fade
bury thy recessive trait
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