Here lie the keepers of the red, white, and blue, 

Whose death was coming, but no one knew.

Here lie the protectors of rights and freedoms, 

Marching in unison; you hear us when we come.

Here lie the strongest, the brave, and the bold, 

Mouths full of purity, with falsehoods, never told.

Here lie his allies, for foes, he has none, 

'Cause they all stood together; they must all fall as one. ​

​

Here lie the equal, with no room for despair,

Lives full of riches, living without a care. 

Here lie the colorful, with difference celebrated, 

Upstanding and triumphant, a nation that’s never hated.

Here lie paradise, prosperity for all, 

Unbroken, untouched, the nation that could not fall. ​

​

I apologize, my friends, for it seems I’ve got it wrong, There

has been a mix-up; this is not the right song. This song I’ve

been singing paints our country so endearing, But as we all

know, in this nation, we are fearing. 

 

Please allow me to restart and correct my mistake; A true

view of the nation is what this new tune will take. Here,

it has been corrected, and I can start again; 

Forget all I’ve said before so that I can begin. ​

​

Here lie the people born from this soil, 

The land they once knew has rotted to spoil.

Here lie the queers who fought for love,

Forced into hiding, now they fight from above.

Here lie the ones who came here with hope,

​

Berated and hated for the words that they spoke.

Here lie the uterus, raw and broken, 

Ravaged by man as symbols and tokens.

Here lie the silenced, their vocal cords stolen, 

No say in their future; their fate has been chosen.

Here lie the proles, with their hands thick and cracked,

All their money stolen, and whip marks on their backs.

Here lie the books that were once on your shelves

Burned in the landfills and reeking deadly smells.

Here lie the Americans who cultivated our land,

Rights stripped away by a flag and a hand.

​

Here stands the deceiver, the devil, and the cheat,

Mirages of victory but a nation of defeat.

Here stand the saints in the church made of bones,

Dressed in all white, with hoods the shape of cones.

Here stands the slave owner, the plantation, and the cotton;

They live forever, but our history is long forgotten.

Here stand the keepers of the red, white, and blue,

Whose death was imminent, and all the dead knew.

​

Here I am, speaking out for the dead.

See their blood in the stripes that are painted dark red.

I am a part of the marginalized, who are scared to read the news.

To be educated or ignorant is a hard thing to choose.

But then I think of the young who were hoping for more.

Who now fear bullets and bloody classroom floors.

I think of my ancestors who were shipped and whipped,

Marching and yelling, beaten with stones and sticks.

I think of the martyrs who were slaughtered in vain;

The roots of our nation are anchored by their pain.

​

When I think of all these people, I know I must write,

For when we are weak, the strongest must fight.

I’ve been battered and bruised; now I’m reaching out to you,
I am still fighting to stand, and you should, too.

​

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