This is a spiritual for those who's chests are too tight to breath, whose blood is caked on the streets, pain too common to be seen, their skin too dark to dream, minds too beautiful to be freed loved ones left to float down the stream burnt or hung like tobacco leaves,
Smoking us is their addiction love Nig-ga-teen but want to disregard the afflictions, want to take in our chemistry but disregard the chronic inequalities.
this is a spiritual for this who bleed, feel or look like me... when,
oh,
when will we be free, the children of the soil I hear their  voices on the breeze songs of sadness, fear, rage, love but very little of peace. No more knees to take, We have no more cheeks to turn. No justice but we must know peace
NO
until we know justice there will be No peace.