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Old Black Cries

Once I heard an old women rise and
From her tears she still thinks of her countries cries
That can be heard through her old brown eyes
And that can be seen through her old scar scratched thighs
Once I derived the image of the old black cries
To the old black covered skies
I knew that these images were designed by the old black cries
That lived in the old southern skies
That watched their brothers die
Every time the whites created lies.



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