A Single White Rose

A single white rose swaying underneath the crooked oak tree

The blood from the innocent bodies dripping while they’re heads swing from the crooked old oak tree

The pure white pedals to be stained with the innocent blood hanging from the tree

As we sang to god for freedom and harmony

A single white rose to be washed away it’s stains

As they are hung by ropes but still enslaved by chains

The shadowy skies to match they’re pale faces

As the single white rose still dances in the wind under they’re faces

A single white rose to visit the negro’s picking cotton

As time flies by the air gets stiff and the apple becomes rotten

Pedal by pedal as they fall off one by one

The single white rose dies and its travel has been done

Though the white rose bush still grows its pedals as the single white roses break from they’re branch

A single white rose takes on its journey to see black culture and in the wind it shall dance