| I grew up in the South in the turbulent time
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| Not a bad time for a white boy
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| The country was changing in a peculiar way
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| And all around me was a sound
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| Growing sweeter and more murderous all at once
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| And the people tried to hide their eyes
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| From the chaos and defiance that was changing them all
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| And the years passed and not a word was spoken
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| The years passed, the silence never broken
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| Quietly, they lead their lives
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| Of desperation, no words to say
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| There were those who know the tables would turn
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| Running out into the burning streets
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| And hoping to hear the words
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| Of a prophet or a sage who might come along
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| And straighten out the mess they had made
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| The injustice and cruelty by their own hands
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| Of the ones of another shade
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| Quietly, they lead their lives
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| Of desperation, no words to say
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| Silently, they turned their heads
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| Their eyes unopened, no words to say
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| Then one day there was heard a thunderous chant
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| The voice they feared grew louder and louder
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| And the day had come at last
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| Quietly, they lead their lives
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| Of desperation, no words to say
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| Silently, they turned their heads
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| Their eyes unopened, no words to say |