The mysterious blackness scares;
It's the organic rhythm
Undecipherable by the Klan
Or souls from the bongo drums
That fracture bones of injustice
While stamping feet give us hope.
So we stamp,
We spin,
Raise our feet,
And dip in suns;
It's the cross of Africa we bear.
Hail! hail! hail!
Ancestors rise;
Hail! hail!
Tell us of blistered years,
How you overcame the shame,
How you survived the scorns;
Hail!
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