Freedom is only an illusion — Early on one frosty morn
I thought of Dixie
The place, not the cup
Dixieland
The idea and not the music
South of the Mason-Dixon line
Where everything changes
As you step over
I thought about her ghosts and
How they still surround us
Her legend, her lies, her cotton
Her slaves, her arrogance
I thought about blood and pain
About lost causes…