Joan Baez sings of the lost childern and dreams. But the message of continuing hipocritsy and continuing bigotry by anglo america is found in the voices of the choir as we sing of freedom. We all have sung of freedom.
How does that affect me? I am not that predujuiced. I have many friends who are not of my rachel or ethnic background. But I am still guilty, a little is not acceptable.
I had dreamt as a youth of a very frightened black girl. She was terified. I looked down into her eyes and held her hand. I comforted her and told her not to be afraid.
I did nothing in the physical world becuse I was afraid. I was alone. I am no longer afraid. I am no longer alone.

Birmingham Sunday 16th ST Baptist Church

Come round by my side and I'll sing you a song.
I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
On Birmingham Sunday the blood ran like wine,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
That cold autumn morning no eyes saw the sun,
And Addie Mae Collins, her number was one.
At an old Baptist church there was no need to run.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom,
The clouds they were grey and the autumn winds blew,
And Denise McNair brought the number to two.
The falcon of death was a creature they knew,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom,
The church it was crowded, but no one could see
That Cynthia Wesley's dark number was three.
Her prayers and her feelings would shame you and me.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
Young Carol Robertson entered the door
And the number her killers had given was four.
She asked for a blessing but asked for no more,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
On Birmingham Sunday a noise shook the ground.
And people all over the earth turned around.
For no one recalled a more cowardly sound.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
The men in the forest they once asked of me,
How many black berries grew in the Blue Sea.
And I asked them right with a tear in my eye.
How many dark ships in the forest?
The Sunday has come and the Sunday has gone.
And I can't do much more than to sing you a song.
I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
And the choirs keep singing of Freedom.

Joan baez