Crocodile Tears

No more wind-blown, torn cloud reptile tears,
That fill the space where words should claim
The right to state and not whitewash years,
But echo back the skin-felt blame,
And the shame, the shame, the shame, the shame
Of mine-deep things hid in our name,
Like a poisoned fruit from a poisoned tree
With mangled roots that won’t let us be
They hold us in place sans liberte
And their dendron rings that tell the tale
Of how this race of humans failed
To act with grace or dignity
Or hear the crying children plea
To not hang that vile fruit on that tree
Or blaze the night with evil flame
That burns again bright in our name
And the shame, the shame, the shame, the shame

Tie me not to that DNA
That makes your face now turn away
That clamps your ears but not your tongue,
Which claims the right to sing downtrodden songs,
which disconnect you from our wrongs.

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