The bus is hot as it rolls, and with the number of bodies is
Sticky air and sweat-wet seats and the raw smell of humans.
We are the freedom riders, the
Beaten at bus stops and booed as we walk.
We are the black and the white,
Cascading dominoes in this long and twisty path that won’t be over until the last one
It is our blood on the ground, spilled for the brotherhood of
We are the freedom riders, and we are the oppressed.
We are the freedom riders, and we are the future.