My name is Nat Turner
My skin is black as the night that devours me
I know I should not be out here at this hour
I know this cold pistol does not belong in my hand
I know that this is all wrong
What's wrong?
Thinking you can own a man?
Torture some one simply for their race?
Or taking revenge for such abuses?
The anger returns with a vengence, scorches the doubt from my mind
A sound
A river flowing
An image
A deer running
Running free
Something I shall never do
I close my eyes
The eclipse
My task, I must remember that
The pistol, cold and hard in my hand
Revenge
I can feel many others behind me,
Many others as dark as I
Coiled and ready to strike
An image
A cobra
Deadly and dangerous
Like us
I nod
They know what to do
The Revolution
It has begun
The house
It looms over me, daring me to finish what I have started
I find him in his room
My Master
Asleep
The floorboards, they creak
Awake
He spies the pistol in my hand
Pain
A whip?
I recoil
His throat, it is in my fist
Choking
He can't breathe
My body screams at me to slow down
Flailing limbs
A loud noise
The pistol
I have him
We won
The Revolution
It's over
He's rigid and pale
My Master
My Captor
In a crimson pool of hate
My name is Nat Turner
I was a slave
But now I hang high for my deeds
Hang high for the Revolution
Pride
That word hovers around me
Like a vulture over a dead body
The ones in the sky, waiting for me to drop
My name is Nat Turner
I was a slave
But soon I will finally be free