The coats in boats had stepped onto our lands,
stating they've discovered what was all that our eyes have seen from the start.
Bloods were shed.
The same bloods were shared.
Bloods still continue to pour out.
They've thrown out their coats in favor of suits
and yet, they all look the same.
Our lands, though, they're gone now.
They've turned them to concrete
- it makes it much harder to dig through
all the history that's buried.
But while the past went on hiding,
the spirit, it kept on living.
Outside, the skins were dark
- and then they were light
or maybe it was some other shade.
When inside, no matter what you call it, it was always brown to start with.
We piled on the suits and painted our skins,
as we made our way out of the poached lands.
We said "Yes, sir"or "I can, sir" and sometimes,
"No, I'm not, sir."
But our brown eyes beckoned to our kindred
to remember the lands and hills where once our bloods were spilled.