There are songs that entertain, and there are songs that hold a blade to the throat of history.

“Strange Fruit” isn’t a song.

It’s a warning.

A haunting.

A memory with its teeth still in the soil.

Billie Holiday didn’t sing it — she bled it.

She stood in smoky rooms where people came to be distracted, to forget, to drown the day.

And she made them look.

Made them sit with the horror America tried to bury under magnolia trees and polite handshakes.

Bodies swinging where fruit should have been.

The breeze carrying grief, not sweetness.

An orchard of injustice disguised as “the good old days.”

This song isn’t about the past.

It’s about what happens when a nation refuses to face what it has done —

and what it still allows.

It asks one question:

What grows in a land watered with silence?

The answer:

Strange fruit.

And it’s still growing.

If you listen to that song and your chest gets tight — good.

Your heart still works.

You’re not numb yet.

Hold onto that.

Peace & love to the ones still fighting the quiet wars.

– Saint Dirty Face

Stay Dirty. But Speak Up.
Because silence is how the roots grow back.