A child courses
towards its grave
like wild roses
picked by slaves.
Child closes
what it craves
like wild horses
that behave.
I'm breathing now
for both of us,
and I've got a mile of smiles
I was forced to save.
Some may close
and some may cave...
Some may give
and some they gave...
But I know these wild roses
(picked by slaves),
some of them
I'll save.
