He might have bought you
when he was a younger man
Because that was the time
we all had a plan
A plantation of possibility
A prosperous destiny
This tobacco plantation
will go down in history
Not as a beacon of pride
for my clan …
This plantation of damnation
is a blight on our family
There are souls tied to nooses
dangling from trees
there is a graveyard in the bushes
that bares no headstone
a graveyard filled with restless souls
and tired beaten bones
I was a child
when Daddy sold his last slave
a brave little boy …
That boy may have been you
You are about my age
Over the century
you sure have changed
Changed like the visions
which haunt this place
vaguely familiar
Yet never the same
I am sickened by the memory
of the slaves murdered here
They forbid me to leave
That boy, if he’s you
put a curse on my clan
If I ever leave
this God-forsaken land
all of my children are
forever damned
Everyone I love
abandoned me in this place
in fields of tobacco
laced with blood and disgrace
I don’t wish to leave
I just want to dream
when I go to sleep
I want to dream
about when we used to play
when I was a boy
and you were a slave
If you have come here today
to lift this curse,
there is no need for a funeral
no need for a hearse.
Bury me in the bushes
with no headstone
so I may free those poor souls
and carry them home.