Warm in the jailhouse when Brown fell asleepnA bootful of liquor he borrowednDreamed he was colored and waiting to meetnThe rich man drawing tomorrownnHead full of cotton, the scent in his mouthnWhite coat of paint on the steeplenSharp pins and needles, he cursed as he wokenThe smug, sleeping town and its peoplennSheriff Brown bit through his tongue nWhen he shot out the black boy he thought was stealingnChurches burned on the hillside like cattle on CalvarynFrightened and thirstynnThe river swelled up until the valley could feelnIts moving like meddling furynBrown asked the creek why the Lord had to stealnHis horse, house, and his babiesnnGrasping for branches while floating downstreamnScared, unfamiliar, and strandednJumped on a dog, broke its neck on a treenHis feet all but once again plantednnSheriff Brown bit through his tongue nWhen he screamed like a soldier for justice and mercynChurches burned on the hillside like cattle on CalvarynFrightened and thirstynnBrown left the jail for a bar across townnA street where the weight left his shouldernWalked through the door, finding no one aroundnBut Jesus, in a booth in the cornernnRubbed at his eyes, turned his radio offnSeeing, but far from believingnJesus stood up, and with a thick southern drawlnSaid, Brown, I'm the nigger you're seekingnnSheriff Brown bit through his tongue nWhen he strung up the savior on a hook on the ceilingnChurches burned on the hillside like cattle on CalvarynDumb of their freedom