Stand Your Ground, Feel the Chain

In Boston knew the march of boots long before the cry of freedom.

Redcoats stood on every corner. Rifles were our tools had been. Taxes crossed an

ocean's water, tea in boxes and paper taken. Most of us just bowed our

heads, fed our families, paid our debts. Thought that silence bought us peace,

but peace was never truly ours. Stand your ground, feel the chain. Nothing breaks if

they remain. Stand your ground, feel the chain. Nothing breaks if they remain.

One cold night outside the Custom House, a crowd gathered, words turned sharp.

Snowballs flew then, fear took over. A shot rang out and five men