Would that our Fathers had left upon the darkling plain,

To wither and fade in the unforgiving wild,

That mewling, blind, wretched babe,

Innocent and full of promise,

Corrupt and void of spirit,

For we have proven unworthy of the gift they gave,

Yielding to our fear and weakness,

Casting the birth-right aside for pottage,

Choosing over freedom to put on chains of our own making,

Forged in our obtuse ignorance,

Yielding to our darker natures,

As we slink away from the light,

Coveting the souls of our bretheren,

Embracing that against which we fought,

Becoming the slaves we sought to free.

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