[Intro – Soft fiddle, simple drum heartbeat. Lights dim.] YOUNG LINCOLN (spoken-sung, quiet): I was born where the wind turns the corn into waves… where the nights are long… and the men are graves. [Verse 1 – Young Lincoln] YOUNG LINCOLN (gentle, fearful): Mama had a voice like morning— soft as linen, warm as bread. Papa had a hand like thunder— and we learned to watch his tread. I would read by firelight’s whisper when the screaming died away… I would dream of someplace kinder I could reach… some distant day. [Verse 2 – Ensemble (whispered echoes), Lincoln sees slavery] ENSEMBLE (whispers): Boy of the frontier… Boy with the books… Eyes too soft for a world with hooks… YOUNG LINCOLN: I saw chains for the first time— on a boat down Illinois— heard the crying of a stranger that still haunts me as a boy. He was bent like broken timber, he was bleeding from the wrists… and my father said, “Don’t look now,” but I did… and I never could forget. [Bridge – Lightning changes. Father’s violence.] ENSEMBLE (low chant): Crack of the belt… Crack of the sky… A boy learns early when to cry… YOUNG LINCOLN: I learned silence, learned obedience, learned to keep my anger low— but the day he struck down Mama was the day something in me rose. I swore then I’d be different. I swore I’d break the chain— that no hand of mine would ever deal another human pain. ⭐ [Chorus – Lincoln’s inner vow] YOUNG LINCOLN (rising): I am just a boy of the frontier— thin and frightened, small and plain— but I feel the fire inside me burning hotter than my shame. If the world is built on bloodshed, if the strong decide the law— then let me grow into a man who sees the worth in what he saw. [Verse 3 – Young Lincoln reaches for hope] YOUNG LINCOLN: Books became my lantern— every page a place to hide. Words became my compass in the storms we held inside. And I swore I’d never harden like the men who live to break— I would split the rails of hatred for a gentler world to make. ⭐ [Final Chorus – full ensemble joins softly behind him] FULL ENSEMBLE (soft gospel undercurrent): Boy of the frontier… Boy with the flame… Born from sorrow, raised in pain… YOUNG LINCOLN (stronger): I’m a boy of the frontier— but I know the world can mend. If my hands must split the darkness, let the light be what I send. Let the light be what I send.
