Clotilde

Across the state line
Pace of life slows to a crawl
Fair-haired sons
Never break a sweat at all
On a wide porch
In rocking chairs
Feeling the warm breeze
Out of sight out of mind
So no one sees
The white man sailed in
Set up shop
Sold em with chains
Round their necks
Down by the docks
From ancient oaks
Down old shell roads
The moss hangs so low
Weeping for sins no one speaks
But everybody knows
Were it not for the twilight song
Of the mockingbird
Singing out that the caged ones might be heard
The carnival masks
Of psychological hypochondriacs
Salt in the wounds
From whips across their backs