9 am Train

One Thursday onto the 9 am train

Stepped a regular who didn't have a penny to his name

His name was PQ71692

He'd been dehumanized and dramatized to be a worthless fool

But PQ had a mission that was more important, he knew

Than the temporary social solitary confinement he endured

PQ was once a wealthy man named Brandon Drew

Despite his enterprise he was a bit of a recluse

He'd never seen a black man but heard stories in his youth

Of savagery and battery deserving of a noose

They were now restrained, contained in a slum

Seemingly impossible for a man to overcome

A race so dehumanized they had mere numbers for names

Chained up like a large savage beast who couldn't be tamed

Now Drew was a kind, careful man who wasn't quick to judge

And his desire to see these stories himself simply wouldn't budge

So one day he bribed his way into seeing the slum

He had no idea how much he'd be changed by what he'd done

He was instantly brought to his knees by what he had to behold

Rows and rows of roofless homes, shoeless toes, meatless bones

Next to a dying, starving boy a father laid

He let out a scream in vain, a microcosm of his pain

Drew was horrified by what his people had done

Their shameless desire to hate and dominate had created the slum

The slum in which millions suffered and died

And not a single child went to bed satisfied

But what had given Drew by far the most fright

Was the lack of hope those people had to gain any rights

The government rejected Drew's pleas to help the slum

Although no one in government would ever set foot in one

They claimed "separate but equal" was important to society

So helping people like the blacks was never a priority

Drew knew what he had to do in order to make a change

To strike a blow to cause the status quo to rearrange

He left all his money, he didn't want it in years to come

And he walked into the slum, a part of which he'd become

He was stripped of his name and all else that he knew

And was renamed PQ71692

He began preaching to crowds large and small

Saying they needed to make the worlds see them all

All whites knew of them were stories they were told

Stories of evil hate from days of old

If the public could see their state, which the stories had created

Global ignorance would no longer leave them incarcerated

So everyday PQ and his following took a train to the gate

The gate out of the slum, a symbol of their refrain

Refrain from the outside world, the dwelling of a single hateful race

And they yelled to all who would listen about the freedom they would chase

They were always beaten down by men made of hate

But always got back up and started shouting just the same

But this Thursday, just after he'd boarded the train

He was shot by a hateful man with deadly aim

Now after PQ had moved into the slum

He'd brought into the world a loving daughter and son

After seeing PQ shot, they raced over to his side

Witnessing the last words of their father as he cried

To not remember him as a martyr, but the starter of something larger

A movement to be continued by his strong son and daughter

But being remembered as a martyr wouldn't be an honor because

Martyrs died with work unfinished

Finishing is harder

So one Friday onto the 9 am train

Stepped the children of PQ without a penny to their names