Our country, Our home, Our mother

If I told you a story of where the old sweet tea rivers
Gently roll till they collide with the salty brackish sea
Could I paint you a dream of waving mossy oaks and a whipporil's quiver
If you could walk the fields and lie under the moon with me
and our generals, our slaves,  our preachers, our ghosts
If you could walk these clay roads with your best gun in hand
floating so gently in the sweet wind, like the shrimp boats on the coast
Or see where our wars of aggression has changed forever our land,
Or hear our parents and children singing those old church songs
About glory, forgiveness, redemption and loss
See the generations of children trying to right their kin's wrongs
Knowing their losing, the south will never be as majestic as it once was
I cry for the loss of our heritage so proud
I hope you'll listen as we sing this sad tune
We are the poor but our heads are held high and our voices are loud
This changing of our culture is coming too soon
If we embrace ourselves as we hold tight our past
Glory is ours, our south is forever and our ancestry is us
If I'm to lose all this suffering and pain. If I am finally so free at last
I want to go hand in hand with our ghosts as we're chained to the mast
The railways lead us away from this home
Away from our beaches, swamps and mountain of stone
If we tear down old boundaries drawn with stature and race
You'll see as I see, that heavens a place
Where you and I and our children run free
Where God has blessed us with his golden shore's sun
Our country, our home, our mother ....Georgia