This song was written for Billie and she made it her signature tune.
It was a haunting Jazz song, languid and soft, reflecting those hot magnolia scented nights in the Deep South. The word plaintive was invented for this song.
Unfortunately it tells of the frequent and arbitrary rough justice handed out to the black community on the slightest pretext. It was the law of the mob, unjust and vicious, without the slightest trace of compassion. They hung people in the most horrifying way. The strange fruit were the corpses of black men dangling from the trees.
Sometimes this was even worse. What happened to Emmett Till was even worse. He was beaten and tortured by a gang of white thugs and killed. His screams resounded all around but no one came to his rescues.
Thank heavens for the Civil Rights Movement. Thank heavens for all the white activists who put their lives at risk supporting the black communities.
This was an important song.
Strange Fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.