lifted measure two


some will not come

they won’t hear the drum

the cannon roars

the air is thin

the time is always now

marching believers know this

they are lacing their boots

uphill forward

there is no other way

never has been in the land of cotton

ten thousand feet eleven million dreams marching

uphill forward out of the ocean

trying to swim on dry land in diminishing potential

some will not hear the drum

but the battlefield is clear

there are no batons to pass

all hands are called for

the bell tolls

the stones have been thrown

the time is now