give me your pain, your huddled masses

waiting for the train

in the cold dark morning

in the cold we are mourning

the death of a salesman, the one who sold us

a priceless dream—told us we were free

told us about justice but we remained

ungrateful and greedy

clinging to our familiar chains

killed him before he could give us

the key

so we’ll never know

what we could’ve been

sleepwalking through trash and rain

come back to us

and teach us how to dream

again

come back, Doctor King

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