Poison pen
The old ceremonyTearing down these trees.
Our numbers were few,
Withered down by disease.
We sent messengers home.
We begged on our knees that winter.
And soon ships arrived to Charleston Bay.
Savages sold to those who could pay
To carry our loads, to work night and day.
And the laws of this world
Were not handed down to men.
They were written by our own hands.
They were written by our own hands.
The were written by our own hands
With a poison pen.
Well, all the amber waves of grain
The forests proud, the dusty clay
Bow down before the mighty trains of iron
All the words are a-cast,
But the meanings the same.
Those who are proud,
They will someday be lame.
And all that is wild will someday be tame.
And the laws of this world
Were not handed down to men.
They were written by our own hands.
They were written by our own hands.
The were written by our own hands
With a poison pen.
We hold these truths so near to our hearts,
We wave them like flags when trouble starts.
We deal them out like a stacked deck of cards
To the hungry:
That all men are free,
All men are wise,
All men except the ones we despise,
The ones who must beg and steal to survive.
And the laws of this world
Were not handed down to men.
They were written by our own hands.
They were written by our own hands.
The were written by our own hands
With a poison pen.
The were written by our own hands
With a poison pen.