The Clotilda

Meet me by the river’s edge
where the waters run deep and clear
where the souls of our lost brethren
refuse to disappear

Among the lapping of the waves
we’ll listen for their mournful cry
the wail of agony as they drowned
that only time can still abide

Underneath these cursed waters
remains the last of a slaver’s ship
a hull of rot and full of decay
a tragic grave for its occupants

So we stand here by the river’s edge
a breeze blowing through the trees
it carries the sounds of their dying wails
lest we forget this tragedy