[Verse 1]
Orange ignites an evening cloud.
A family history serves to crowd
Away a misplaced hint of whimsy.
Reaching through the fog again
To feel the women and the men
Arrive by train, depart by chimney.
Keep moving on and on and on or waste away.
[Chorus]
This is where I’m from. This is where I stand.
This is what it takes to turn a people into me.
This is where I’m from. This is who I am.
This is what is gained by silence stained with bleeding history.
[Verse 2]
More than witness to those crimes
So we survived, but then sometimes
I start to wonder really did we?
Am I something more or less?
Nothing pride or shame, I guess,
could ever do enough to fix me.
Infused with shrapnel of a language left for dead.
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