He was from way up north, Chicago
That boy named Emmet Till.
He’d come to visit relatives
And he received quite a chill,
When he got to that old town Money
The white ghosts only meant him ill.

So one night after he’d
Committed some sort of crime
But what that misdeed was,
That I cannot describe.

He was stared down in the dark
Two bullet holes for eyes
That white ghost picked him up
And threw him with the tide.

Now when his mother found him
Amongst the foam and blood
Something in her heart broke
And released quite a vicious flood.

A flood of tears
A flood of sorrow
A flood of brokenness.

A flood of rage
A flood of justice
And what can never be had again.

She spread the word around
Of those two evil ghosts,
She called the exorcist
To get rid of what she hated most.

But even the court had been blinded
By a translucent veil of white,
No shadows could be seen here
No sympathy in sight.

Up on the podium
Many a brave man came,
But their words fell on deaf ears
And they came back again.

But poor lil’ Emmet Till
Left an impression in people’s minds,
Reminded them a place ain’t the same
All the way round the grind.

So in the end this story
It ain’t a happy one
But one to remember,
And with that, this tale is done.