How can we forget who died trying to make us equal
Somebody said it’s up to you to make it happen
But you don’t know what you would do laying in your crib
Would you make mud out of dirt floors in your mansion?

It wasn’t a made-up soul standing on the corner
Though you thought he was dead in his mother’s womb
She gave birth in a world that didn’t want him to live
But the song he once sang echoes in our own tomb

The voices of the past continue to haunt our thoughts
Yet the dead remain mute leaving us with our own cries
We read their words and wait for a stillborn prophecy’s birth
As the day ends the sun laughs through sacrificial eyes

The floor rises as each page is ripped from the book of life
Who watches while I decide between penance or desires?
What piper would play two songs when only one can be heard?
We await the answer hoping it's the one our heart requires