“Strange Fruit” by Shawn Price

“Southern trees bear a strange fruit

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root

Black bodies swingin’ in the Southern breeze”

 

I see strange fruit,

That dropped from the trees,

Rolling to ally gutters and street corners,

And I see where bites were taken. ..

 

These fruits of many shades,

Have no shade in the sun,

Just blood on kids laces,

And blood on the pavement,

Shells painted red on play grounds,

And bodies rotting across the street,

Funerals around the way,

Mothers running pastors,

And it’s a shame,

Because the pastor doesn’t even know who to pray to anymore,

The smell of the fruit breaks his concentration,

So now all he can do is ask his congregation,

“Can someone please stop the madness?”

“Why aren’t we stopping the mad men?”

“What makes a police officer so mad, when he decides,

‘Forget an arrest’, and puts a young boy to rest?”

“Why are we waiting to be our maddest, to make a different?”

 

“Are we not tired of having cold bodies, on our hot summer days?”

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