A few years ago, the sister you raped Just the other day The babies you starve Every day of the week Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past The sounds of the jail cells Of the Wilmington Tent Are echoes of a massacre Keeping black freedom locked in The sounds of struggle you hear That are filling your world today Are echoes of the voices Your father killed and smothered away You can steal my tongue Go on and try to hush my song My scream of freedom will flood the air Of your children, centuries unborn Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past Nothing but an echo of the past