In slumber I gazed the past moon.
Dip her raw fingers in the honey,
charred feet against the gravel dance.
Stands his brittle slave.
Against the creek flows the cotton,
whipping the cawing crows of black.

Penetrating woods so black.
Massive claws close the honey.
in the moor sinks the beaten slave,
Then explodes the soaring cotton.
As snow in the palest moon,
It twists and twirls the cotton dance.

Then comes the ritual, drum beat dance.
Swooping, it glides to cotton
heaven. Contrasting to the black
Drizzles gold, her lips crave honey.
Alone and raped is the slave.
Praise the milk-fed moon.

Rich and blue is the moon.
Concealed masked men plot against honey,
they loath and envy the color black.
The color of the ruffled slave
Such contempt of the dance.
There minds wonder of cotton

Arouse the foolish cotton,
raise the fire, pyre dance.
Spreading their destruction to the she- slave.
Burning flesh in the waning moon.
Sheets of white, eyes of black,
roaming the evening dew, honey.

Silence, the bees blanket her honey.
Burst through the dance,
They cover the ghostly moon.
The stench of the ash, bubbles black.
The movement circles, hovering cotton.
There lies the slave.

Alone and forgotten, her ashes dance
The blessed bees dribble the honey to the moon
White cotton of black, their lies the slave