The Circle
(c) 2013 Pamela Cardullo Ortiz

Up from rotting floor boards
And cold stone factory walls
The autumn dusk will grab you
And hold you in its thrall
Think you’re independent?
Have plans to go your way?
The chains of life wil hold you
Mired in the Georgia clay.
Pivot in the grinder will wear a man down.
Man lives life in this circle ‘til he’s in the ground.


You’re about as free
As a mule harnessed to a pole.
Think you’re on your way somewhere
Think you’re in control.
But season after season
Everything’s the same.
You’re still picking cotton.
You’re still grinding cane.
Pivot in the grinder will wear a man down.
You’ll go ‘round that circle ‘til you’re in the ground.


Pickaninnies dream of
The men they’ll be someday
Young men dream of jelly roll
And romping in the hay.
Working men dream of
Better work and better pay.
Old men dream of childhood
And live in yesterday.
Pivot in the grinder will wear a man down.
No man escapes the circle ‘til he’s in the ground.