Birmingham Sunday

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 choir kept singing of freedom

That cold autumn morning, no eyes saw the sun

And Addie Mae Collins, her number was one

In an old Baptist church there was no need to run

And the choir kept singing of freedom

The clouds, they were dark, and the autumn wind blew

And Denise McNair brought the number to two

The falcon of death was a creature they knew

And the choir kept singing of freedom

The church, it was crowded, and no one could see

That Cynthia Wesley's dark number was three

Her prayers and her feelings would shame you and me

And the choir 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 choir 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 choir kept singing of freedom

The men in the forest, they once asked of me

"How many black berries grow in the blue sea?"

I asked them right back with a tear in my eye

How many dark ships in the forest?

The Sunday has come, 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 choir kept singing of freedom