The countryside was cold and still
There were three crosses upon the hill
Each one wore a burning hood
To hide its rotten heart of wood
And I cried
Father I hear the iron sound
Hoofbeats on the frozen ground
Down from the hills the riders came
Lord, it was a crying shame
To see the blood upon their whips
And hear the snarling of their lips
And I cried
Mother I feel a stabbing pain
Blood flows down like a summer rain
Each one wore a mask of white
To hide his cruel face from sight
and each one sucked a hungery breath
Out of the empty lungs of death
And I cried
Sister raise my bloody head
It's so lonesome to be dead
He who rides with the Klan
He is a devil and not a man
For underneath that white disguise
I have looked into his eyes
Brother, stand with me
it's not easy to be free