Look up at the beauty of a fighter with no hope
Cut smooth by a thick white wire in his throat
Blackened by more than sunshine: fire’s perfect roast
Look how he swings higher than coastlines
This is the result of being tightened by the rope
He hangs like an ornament on Christmas trees
The smell of human flesh thickens in the breeze
Like strange fruit, with strange juice staining his frame
They only cared that he was hanged, didn’t care about his name
Back and forth sways his body on the branch
To the music in the wind, he does a solemn dance
Thousands have invested in this brown country crop
That’s harvested under a hot sun like cotton
In the sweetest fields swings a body grown rotten;
In the leaves fly the souls of thousands forgotten
In the pages of history and the passage of time
Shame on those who found disturbing glory in this crime
Murdered by dirty hands, without a trial or case
Hanged on account of the hatred of his race
Wish the occurrence of such a crime could be erased…
Wish I could cut down every tree limb that harbored such disgrace.