The Fields Of Lineage

The whispers of yesteryear are so near
I hear my ancestors crying for the freedom their soul, a thousand tears
In the bosom of the North star singing such sweet lullabies
Voices in union, their pleads hoping to be heard by the skins
Wading in the water the soothing visions of their Kingdom shall be done
As weary souls, blistered feet continued to march on
The New World just across the ravine, no more linked chins, no more plantation of skin scorching in the sun
Our victory shall be won
 
 
To forget the past, one is deemed to relive it  
Love, and peace, brings unity