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Song of the Departed
Listening to the sound of the thumping drums
Warning of ships on the horizon
That will surely come
Shackled Africans for the trip to a new land
Chains with no feelings
Strapped to every ankle and hand
In the bottom of the boat with no place to lay
Many will die from day to day
Tossed over the side
To drift out to sea
There's no burial
For servants soon to be
Many years have passed
Still you struggle on
Dealing with hatred
From those you've learned to scorn
Now it's time to get off your knees
And lessen the prayers
Cause the best about you,
You may not see
Until removing the tainted layers
Adapted from book of poems Looking at Ourselves
© 2004 by T. Duffy Afro Staff Writer
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Afromerica: Where its all Black & white and some gray areas.
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