by Orin Griffin

They brought me to the land of the free,
And denied me of all liberty.
I was a slave and I picked his cotton,
I might have forgave but I haven't forgotten.

Along the way I made him see,
That I am a somebody.
My soul has grown deep in America,
But my spirit still weeps for Africa.

I've got neighbors I don't even know,
But I remember how the winding rivers flow.
I remember the hut made of bamboo and wood,
And a small tribe living in brotherhood.

I remember the sun baring down on our chest,
While we danced on mother earth's proud breast.
I remember the drum and our heart's content,
Beating with a blessed sacrament.

I remember how the moon sound so bright,
In the midst of a diamond star lit night.
I remember eating and drinking by han',
And how the wind tickled through our afghan.

I remember the village's cultural ways,
Yes, I've got a home to see someday.
Cities make such a noisy sound,
Pollution fills the air all around.

They pollute the land, they pollute the sea - just between you and me,
This isn't where I was meant to be.
The night life isn't half as fun,
As dancing with the evening sun.

Though my soul has grown deep in America,
My spirit longs to sleep in Africa.

Enslaved by Orin Griffin

© Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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