Standing in this place,
Where you tells us nothing that is going on.
We fear the worst,
Only because you wont tell us better.

You  take us away from our land,
To a place I never knew.
You tell us nothing that is going on,
And you treat us as though we are not human.

You tell us we are moving,
and whip us until we move.
"form a line" you tell us.
We fear your guns, so we do.

You take us to the water.
The same water that brings us joy,
Now will bring us nothing but fear,
and hatred.

You whip the ones who don't go,
And Yell at the ones who do.
You hurt our kind,
Like you have nothing but sin.

Slowly the line starts to move,
And I hear nothing but the clang of mettle,
And the cries of my kind.
We fear what will happen next.

I get to the place,
where the white man stays.
I try not to look him in the eyes,
Because all I will see is sin.

You put your cold grasp,
From something I do not know,
Around my wrists and ankle,
But worst, around my neck.

My man fears you aliens,
so we do what your guns say.
We are not to be feared,
Yet you show us nothing but sin.

All of my men,
are joined by your cold hard chains.
The ones who don't move ,
get pulled by the rest.

The whippings become more,
And my people find it hard to stand.
You tell us you need us,
But show us nothing but sin.

We get on the big beast ,
The one only white man knows.
You shove us down the stairs,
And crowed us in.

We are close.
Too close.
Man and woman and child,
Brought together by sin.

the night finally comes,
And I feel peace again.
But only until the morning sun shines,
And brings death with it.

17 of my fellow men,
Brought out my you aliens.
Its only the second day,
What will the next bring?

The hunger in our belies gets stronger,
as you feast upon your joy.
The days food is not much
But rice and ***** water.

As we start to lose count of the day,
We lose count of so many other things
Death, ****, fear, mice, whipping,
And sin.

My man can not talk about there fears,
For the white man will listen.
The only thing we can do,
Is make our own language.

Some hope for death,
For by death our souls can fly free.
By death we can return home,
But our families don't even have our bones to remember us by.

Our women and children are used as objects,
Objects of the white mans will.
To show no respect to,
And release your sin upon.

We are brought to stable land,
Of which we have never seen.
You brake us into groups,
and show us no respect.


Only half of my men make it there,
And most of them are not well.
We are shoved around,
And most of do not stay on out feet for long.

The ones you deem 'Usable'
go on to the homes of the white man.
We are forced to work,
for the man of the sin.

We get nothing from this,
and very little food.
We bring you your growth,
While ours is held back.

We are the worker,
we are the barer of life.
You are the owner.
YOU are the sin.