Don’t you know you can’t write down a freedom song? It’s the right of sound to tell that jailer he’s wrong. If your life seems short and your chains seem long, you’ve got to sing, sing, sing till the chains are gone. What’s a girl to do, walking down the American way, glancing back at all the crooked tracks that led her to this day? Oh, they led her to this day, when the twilight looks that way, all gold and rust and bound to die, like Judas to betray. Don’t you know you can’t write down a freedom song? It’s the right of sound to tell that jailer he’s wrong. If your life seems short and your chains seem long, you’ve got to sing, sing, sing till the chains are gone. Who am I to now sit silent, while the war goes on so long? Maybe this machine kills fascists, but it’s hard to stop a bomb. Oh, it’s hard to stop a bomb when all I do to right that wrong is just hum along to a freedom tune and then shuffle to another song. Now Arizona starts to flood, and Seattle feels the drought. Thomas becomes certain just as Peter starts to doubt. Oh, Peter starts to doubt, and Mary stands to shout, “How long will truth survive the page before you let it out?” Don’t you know you can’t write down a freedom song? It’s the right of sound to tell that jailer he’s wrong. If your life seems short and your chains seem long, you’ve got to sing, sing, sing till the chains are gone. You’ve got to sing, sing, sing till the chains are gone.