Pandora’s box now waits upon our call;
that call to Charlotte’s violence. All ears
hear rising tumult ‘oer a statue, tall
and there rides Robert Lee. His horse he steers.
Old statesman, warrior of Civil War
his battle fit with sword no longer flies.
He fought for whom he felt his duty for
but South was wrong and in his journey, sighs.
But now new hatred clashes; there’s unrest.
Old Robert, soldier in the South’s defeat.
Our Robert Lee, he did as he knew best.
Yet now he troops again in symbol’s heat.
Pandora’s fire of hatred opens snakes:
war’s warning of incendiary fates.