But why my selfish counting love?
I divide its scant supply.
Let’s fill a joint account with love:
Compound and multiply.

Oh! Do you hear her dulcet song?
Do we dare reap rights from wrongs?
Do you hear her, or was I dreaming?

Logden Gnash

Caves begun and garden end,
we are the dirt, full-soaked with love and sin.
Let us harvest now our bounty teeming!
Let us shout, Begin! Begin!
We must fight and we must win,
to build our city gleaming!

Oh say! Can you see top past’s tearful trail
a shining city? And all will hale
her Queen, not thieving squatter.
I hear her! And she wins me
the force to muster up the will within me
to beat back the Fury’s call to violence.

But, still … do I hear a gentle song?
A simple verse, a prayer near silence-
spoken by soft-sandeled maiden,
thrusting high her torch emblazened,
standing stride her huddled throng.
She does not withhold, as free man’s daughter,
The freedom stole from freed man’s grieving father.

And, in horror, I watched them ripping,
until I sensed my foothold slipping
shaken by their wretched thunder.

And so, our earth spewed forth a Fury wailing
that our land, this work was failing.
From the depths, he summoned screaming,
an evil army of unleashed demons.
“Tear out these gardens! Destroy these walls!
Scorch the earth and burn it all!
Loot and steal! Pillage! Plunder!”

But, Oh! Our soil spilled from reeking caves
of fetid flesh and curdled blood,
the decaying rot ‘neath unmarked graves
filled with broken bones of slaughtered slaves,
from sunken swamps of murdered mud.

For a quarter of a thousand year,
in pursuit of truths not yet here,
we toiled and worked this fertile ground,
hoping freedom would bloom from every tree
and verdant gardens all around
would bear the fruits of liberty.