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To much hypocracy in this old southern town for me.
Way back in 1619 begins this tragic story.
Thrown into slavery still the crime was the color of skin.
Never to see the light of the past again.
(Chorus)
I wanna go where the mountains are high enough to echo my song.
I wanna go where the rivers run deep enough to drown my shame. I wanna go where the stars shine bright enough to show me the way. I wanna go...where the wind calls my name.
The wind is calling India, India, India.
It's the typical savanahh day so I take my guitar to the park and I play.
Sitting up under the live oak trees the strangest feeling came over me. Is this the tree where my brother was hung? Is this the ground where his body was burned? God gave me the gift of song so I dedicate this one and...
(Chorus)
Superiority who can be better than me? Wasting precious time of racist mentality.
This is only the beginning the flesh will by pushing in days to come. Spirit knows no color. Either you're a hater or a lover.
(Chorus)
(Chorus again)
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