Natasha Bedingfield

there's an old man talkin

to a young boy weepin

to an old man shaking his head

there's a cool gentle breeze

in the night full of light

as the red glow wavers in the stead

there's a black man crying

and a white man dyin

and a black man's head in the air

the shock of life

feeds the fight

the fight that's in my head

holding tight in the stillness of the night

in the stillness of my thoughts

yet, I know I've only started



beating on a tin drum marching to a sound

what is it I think?

am I beating on a tin drum marching to a cause

when I don't know what it is I believe



lonely peeping chick

calling to his mother

runs amuck

in a sunken black ditch

and wilham's with the widow

while martha's in the meadow

and the lamb is a layin in sick

and the boy in back

is talking some slack

to the king of auld lang syne

and my heart goes out

but I cannot spout what I do not know inside

holding tight in the stillness of my mind

in the stillness of my thought

yet, I know I've only started