Across this great land of ours,
high above the heavens,
well below the stars.
Amidst the mud, we all move,
but still the segregation, it ensues.
The black, the white, the red, the brown,
we push each other backward,
we hold each other down, so politically correct,
afraid of the history that we might resurrect.
Martin Luther, Luther King,
he had a dream.
Martin Luther, Luther King,
Are you still sleeping?
Surrendered sanctuaries still,
convincing us of kindness and goodwill,
but hovering humble and high,
the angels far above us can't help but ask why?
Onward and up we will go,
forget about the hurting,
the weak and the slow.
So intelligent and sane,
do we have nothing left to lose and or gain?
Martin Luther, Luther King,
he had a dream.
Martin Luther, Luther King,
Are you still sleeping?