All of ye fallen fathers and mothers, I hear you calling from deep in your graves, Songs about Jesus, songs about freedom, Shackles and crosses and the way blood behaves. Sailed the great ocean, sold down the river, White fields of cotton and green fields of cane, The sweat from our bodies and the tears of our children, Washed in the blood and the promised land rain. My brother, father, brother, On ground we now hallow and shout hallelujah For the angels that sing. For promises buried in fields that lay fallow, The bell is too broken to let freedom ring. All the dreams of the dreamers are misbegotten, As my mother still crying for the dying and dead. And the war rages on and the whole thing is rotten, The blood we all bleed is the same shade of red. And the war rages on and the whole thing is rotten, The blood we all bleed is the same shade of red. And the war rages on and the whole thing is rotten, The blood we all bleed is the same shade of red. And the war rages on and the whole thing is rotten, The blood we all bleed is the same shade of red. The blood we all bleed is the same shade of red.