The Klan

The countryside was cold and still

There were three crosses upon the hill

Each one wore a burning hood

To hide its rotten heart of wood

And I cried

Father I hear the iron sound

Hoofbeats on the frozen ground

Down from the hills the riders came

Lord, it was a crying shame

To see the blood upon their whips

And hear the snarling of their lips

And I cried

Mother I feel a stabbing pain

Blood flows down like a summer rain

Each one wore a mask of white

To hide his cruel face from sight

and each one sucked a hungery breath

Out of the empty lungs of death

And I cried

Sister raise my bloody head

It's so lonesome to be dead

He who rides with the Klan

He is a devil and not a man

For underneath that white disguise

I have looked into his eyes

Brother, stand with me

it's not easy to be free