Hands and feet are all alike But gold between divide us Hands and feet are all alike But fear between divide us, Slip away In this room stood a little child And in this room this little child She would remain Until someone might decide To dance this little child Across this hall Into a cold, dark, space Where she might never trace her way across this crooked mile Across this crooked page Cry freedom, cry From deep inside where We are all confined Till we wave our hands
Posted on: Thu, 13 Jun 2013 04:01:24 +0000