Left that only remembers
how to move to the right
because when the back has been burdened
To curve is what it looks like
Country shackled and skin
Scarred with memory of chain
Although the feet are free
Hobbled feet refrain
From being a dancing step
trip, skank, and fall
rise up again and reach
voices tall to small
Between the lines of sectors
Among the shades of brown
Within collective dreams
Does the brow frown
In demand, yes in degrees
In struggle, yes diff'rent schemes
But in the pain of expression
Is our memory freed
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