Strange Fruit

Southern tress bear a strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze.

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth

Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh

Then the sudden smell of burning flesh

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck

For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,

For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,

Here is a strange and bitter cry.