The Strings
You need not fear
Of a black man's fiddle
For he must play along
To the white man's riddle
And he tightens the strings
As the masquerade plays
For he will never hold power
Till the end of his days
When the master says dance
He must always obey
Or face the sound of a whip
For that's always the way
He carries his scars
From years worth of pride
And the river does run
What he feels deep inside
But he tightens his fiddle
Pulls deep at the strings
For he knows the riddle
God can't grant him wings
And he will always remain
A Sorrow’s child of faith
And carry the burden
Of a white man's disgrace