At school, they had dreams
At home, they had hopes
At street, they had fears
At church, they had faith
At taverns, they had freedom
They’re tangled in division living in sorrows of their forefathers who cried to death separation from birth
All they knew was the zebra stripes of wounds on their back
Wept with ropes filled with razors, Christ died for us.
And yet a dark man died for no sin.
Changing their names to northern sounds.
Their backbone is decorated with blood wept until their back bones are seen.
Yes, that was decades ago.
For real, they died in pain.
Not even Freedom will wash away their tears
Now their pain lives in eyes of the youth who lives in dark with a narrow future.
Living in shacks sealed with poverty
Filled with in quality for a child to fight for his father’s sin, scarred heart with bloodied eyes of pain.
Yet they wait by the corner of the street hoping for hope with scars in their eyes.
They are dark golden skin children