| August in Virginia, | |
| A warm brandy night in 1831, | |
| Hidden in woodlands, | |
| Seven slaves discussed the freedoms to be won. | |
| Christ’s blood on the cornfields, | |
| A benighted hand to suffocate the sun, | |
| War with the Serpent: | |
| Visions from The Book led a preacher to the gun. | |
| "Seek ye the kingdom of Heaven | |
| And all things shall be added unto you," | |
| Words from the Spirit | |
| To see Southampton County’s insurrection through. | |
| Hoisting the window | |
| The rebels burst into the sleeping master’s room. | |
| Blows from their hatchets: | |
| Each child’s bed a crimson, wooden tomb. | |
| “Was Christ not crucified?” | |
| In deadly silence the farms were sacked, | |
| Alerting no free man to the next attack. | |
| Sixty fell to their axes and their swords, | |
| The General foretelling salvation from the Lord. | |
| Recruiting warriors they freed | |
| From the ranks of the flogged, | |
| They rode through the bogs: | |
| A cavalry of stolen steeds. | |
| The wrath of the unbound, | |
| The oppressors’ constant fear, | |
| The screams of two hundred years, | |
| Piqued the ears of the white man’s hounds. | |
| Lynch mobs’ slaughters | |
| Of black sons and daughters, | |
| Blameless in this battle | |
| Butchered as cattle. | |
| The Deep South trembled at the Negro prophet’s renown | |
| Vengeful militias hunted the panicked slaves down. | |
| Captured near his cavern, | |
| Judged in Jerusalem, | |
| Turner, brimming with glory, | |
| Confessed to his story. | |
| Led to the gallows of Calvary | |
| A killer, a martyr, grinned. | |
| His deeds etched in history | |
| His body hanged and skinned. |
| August in Virginia, | |
| A warm brandy night in 1831, | |
| Hidden in woodlands, | |
| Seven slaves discussed the freedoms to be won. | |
| Christ' s blood on the cornfields, | |
| A benighted hand to suffocate the sun, | |
| War with the Serpent: | |
| Visions from The Book led a preacher to the gun. | |
| " Seek ye the kingdom of Heaven | |
| And all things shall be added unto you," | |
| Words from the Spirit | |
| To see Southampton County' s insurrection through. | |
| Hoisting the window | |
| The rebels burst into the sleeping master' s room. | |
| Blows from their hatchets: | |
| Each child' s bed a crimson, wooden tomb. | |
| " Was Christ not crucified?" | |
| In deadly silence the farms were sacked, | |
| Alerting no free man to the next attack. | |
| Sixty fell to their axes and their swords, | |
| The General foretelling salvation from the Lord. | |
| Recruiting warriors they freed | |
| From the ranks of the flogged, | |
| They rode through the bogs: | |
| A cavalry of stolen steeds. | |
| The wrath of the unbound, | |
| The oppressors' constant fear, | |
| The screams of two hundred years, | |
| Piqued the ears of the white man' s hounds. | |
| Lynch mobs' slaughters | |
| Of black sons and daughters, | |
| Blameless in this battle | |
| Butchered as cattle. | |
| The Deep South trembled at the Negro prophet' s renown | |
| Vengeful militias hunted the panicked slaves down. | |
| Captured near his cavern, | |
| Judged in Jerusalem, | |
| Turner, brimming with glory, | |
| Confessed to his story. | |
| Led to the gallows of Calvary | |
| A killer, a martyr, grinned. | |
| His deeds etched in history | |
| His body hanged and skinned. |
| August in Virginia, | |
| A warm brandy night in 1831, | |
| Hidden in woodlands, | |
| Seven slaves discussed the freedoms to be won. | |
| Christ' s blood on the cornfields, | |
| A benighted hand to suffocate the sun, | |
| War with the Serpent: | |
| Visions from The Book led a preacher to the gun. | |
| " Seek ye the kingdom of Heaven | |
| And all things shall be added unto you," | |
| Words from the Spirit | |
| To see Southampton County' s insurrection through. | |
| Hoisting the window | |
| The rebels burst into the sleeping master' s room. | |
| Blows from their hatchets: | |
| Each child' s bed a crimson, wooden tomb. | |
| " Was Christ not crucified?" | |
| In deadly silence the farms were sacked, | |
| Alerting no free man to the next attack. | |
| Sixty fell to their axes and their swords, | |
| The General foretelling salvation from the Lord. | |
| Recruiting warriors they freed | |
| From the ranks of the flogged, | |
| They rode through the bogs: | |
| A cavalry of stolen steeds. | |
| The wrath of the unbound, | |
| The oppressors' constant fear, | |
| The screams of two hundred years, | |
| Piqued the ears of the white man' s hounds. | |
| Lynch mobs' slaughters | |
| Of black sons and daughters, | |
| Blameless in this battle | |
| Butchered as cattle. | |
| The Deep South trembled at the Negro prophet' s renown | |
| Vengeful militias hunted the panicked slaves down. | |
| Captured near his cavern, | |
| Judged in Jerusalem, | |
| Turner, brimming with glory, | |
| Confessed to his story. | |
| Led to the gallows of Calvary | |
| A killer, a martyr, grinned. | |
| His deeds etched in history | |
| His body hanged and skinned. |
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