Today I picked the grapes,
But they were not mine to eat.
They were only mine to put into
The basket at my feet.

And when the day was over,
I stood and turned for home,
But I really didn’t have one.
My home is just a room.

One room in a two room shack
I share with my three brothers.
What we own fits in a gunnysack.
And we belong only to each other.

Yes, freedom is what we share
As we move from town to town
But we hope we’ll find a place somewhere
Where we can settle down.

A church, a school, a neighborhood,
The things you overlook.
As you eat the grapes I picked today.
And page through your Redbook.

to the summit I soar and my wings are clipped
I fall thrashing and spinning.
inevitable defeat.
ground rushes in quickly,
quickly—the end.
ah blessed relief—
still, I’ll fly again.

my spirit will glide on a heavenly plain.
I’ll rise, wheeling and turning,
soaring again,
my eyes filled with morning
as dawn recreates
a new beginning—
an end to the thrashing,
relief from the spinning
seeing the world emerge from the night
fast fading gray into new shining light
ah blessed relief—
God willing, I’ll fly.