The crowd moves silent along the ground
I see the sight but don't hear a sound
Shackles hang from strengthend hands
They move at the pace of the Egypt lands
Cracking whips down the spine
But that is their past it is not mine
They sing their redemption songs
Getting punished for no wrongs
Stolen from their native lands
Thought inferior because of dark hands
Cracking whips down the spine
But that is their past it is not mine
These people are not me
Those people I'll never be
Look deeper still and I will find
That that past is indeed mine
These people still are not free
These people, those people are me
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