It was right over there I saw her last she was walking toward the stage, A white gardenia in her hair, her head so gently raised a wounded look in her eye. I saw how she started to sing her song;
so delicate and vulnerable her voice carried you right along
"Southern trees bare a strange fruit blood on the leaves and blood on the Root.. Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze "Strange Fruit hanging From the Poplar tree..
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.. The scent of Magnolia Sweet and fresh and the sudden smell of burning flesh.. Here is a Fruit for the crow to pluck For the rain to gather for the wind to suck, for the sun to rot for the tree to drop
Here�s a strange and bitter crop.
Yeah...you sang that song, that Strange Fruit song as if it were part of your life.You made me feel the hell you were in, Your completely hopeless life. Now I know your blues, that song was you...The tragedy so real, those blues, the words you sung so well with a fragilness, You couldn�t conceal. Those words .... your sound is alive today. The feeling so poignantly new God bless the Lady who sang the blues A Final Peace and Freedom for you.
John Bates
by John Bates
