If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d reach above and catch me some,
and bring them back to earth with me, and keep them safe for days to come.
I’d wish for peace in troubled times, for those not knowing how to love;
for those afflicted by our plagues, without the means to rise above.

For all my brothers in our world, I’d wish we’d all learn to embrace,
and look beyond our differences, to see the wealth beyond our face.
For black or white, brown, red, or gold, we’re all the same within our skins;
all look for love and brotherhood, and truth beyond our earthly sins.

If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d catch a few as they passed by,
and make my wishes into acts, to help all those who as they cry;
I’d find my voice and sing with all; a choir that lifts beyond the noise,
and with this song, send up a prayer, for those who hear; peace in our time.

Hope floats on gentle morning wings,
through windows just beyond the storms,
and lifts its voice in revelry,
within the willow’s sheltering arms.

He joins the choir of morning song,
with harmonies that calm our soul,
reminding all to look beyond,
embracing natures healing roll.

We seek a refuge from our world;
our broken lives are filled with pain,
within the death and violence,
beyond the trouble, and the rain.

So listen for the whippoorwill,
and robin in their melodies,
reminding us that nature’s gifts,
are often blessings that are free.

As we recall our legacy,
our voices rise in angry chants,
and once again we face the truth,
with handmade signs of our unrest.

America, in our cold grey day,
remembers its original sin,
of stolen sons, and lives enslaved,
to build our nation new as one.

Home of the free, we never were,
just more than other countries fare,
and we must see with eyes unblurred,
to history’s truth, we must endure.

The truth is we’re a selfish bunch,
with monarchy still reigning us,
and ‘til we treat all man as one,
“let freedom ring” is but a dream.

Upon this worldwide stage, we play,
and open now our eyes and see,
and with our grieving hearts laid bare,
in wretched agony, we weep.

This blindness, long within our soul,
our nation’s sin; historic past.
We brought with us and kept alive,
and made the whites our ruling class.

To this we’ve shut our eyes and ears,
pretending that we cannot see,
and if we’ve seen, afraid to voice,
in freedom’s land for centuries.

With wretched consternation now,
our voice and hearts cry out at last,
to those who hear to make this right,
within this hour and face our past.

So let us bandage up our wounds
and heal all those within our land,
and make this verse our country’s cry,
One flesh and blood; our final stand.

Our leaders in their crimson clothes,
made of the finest fabric found,
and those found backing their regime,
have set on them a royal crown.

Some blind to what is underneath;
hearts filled with darkness at their core,
stoked with divisiveness and greed,
they serve this narcissistic corp.

A leader’s job is this: to lead;
a Shepard, there to guard his flock,
in trials, they arm the battle lines,
protecting like the mighty hawk.

So, tear off the glitter and the glitz,
and tinsel of this TV game,
the constant barricade of shame,
tarnishing our nation and its name.

You are not here to entertain,
but lead us with the wisest minds,
but fools within their cloaks made new,
are still but fools; the worst of kinds.

In this our year of reckoning,
with demons we dare not discuss,
we cannot hide in cloaks of blame,
and hope this too shall pass from us.

Take up your right to choose again,
and send those tumbling to their knees,
for as they treated those they led,
so too their fate shall come to be.

Oft leaders with their silver tongues,
of lies and graceless souls have forged,
a nation filled with bleeding souls,
we lift our voice in one accord.

Imprisoned by their self-made love,
they’ve led us to this darkest hour,
while those who watch from other lands,
know us for who we truly are.

So oft we’re blinded to ourselves,
and never see beyond the lies;
a nation split between the blind,
and those who’ve seen, in horror cry.

Enough, I cry within my heart,
with like-souls indignation rage,
our bleeding nation must replace,
the fluted pipers on our stage.