Tho technology abounds
My apologies profound
As we regress back in time
To a simpler frame of mind.
When ol’ cotton was king
Down in Dixie they’d sing
Of the Bluesman’s misery
Dominating Man to his injury.
Strangely swung from trees
The poplar fruit guarantees
That the savagery of intent
Will forever haunt I regret.
For we cannot bury the past
Until we alas come to grasp
The unsettling truth be told
Sins of our father’s exposed.
For the apple falls not far
From the tree of our hearts.
