In that southern town with long history, the blades of grass whisper's lies.
In the comfort of our personal space, we are no longer restrained to behave appropriately.
In the highway down that dirty road, we can't bare to see one of our brethen die.
In the system that was made to keep us down, we remain defeated, unfortunately.
In the privilege of their heritage, they can drive down the road peacefully.
In the sight of the other, we will always be seen as violent.
In this cruel and unusual place, we will always be less than, financially.
In the eyes of the law, we will never be innocent.
At this time we stand and say enough.
We will be the waves that perishes the ships, the fire that burns the flag to ashes.
We shall be the people who cause uproar.
In this day we refuse to be treated this way furthermore.