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uzzi obinna Oct 2016
Who shall deliver me from egypt?
Who shall save me from pharoahs whip?
My heart have become a hollow pit,
And my sorrow has grown too dip.

I quench my thirst with my tears,
Even slaves take turns to ******* blood,
My nights are haunted by innumerable fears,
My knees are weakend by heated rods.

Who shall fight for me in this war?
My mind is distorted and my spirit is torn.
Who shall provide the balm for my sores?
Is there a balm of Gilead in my creators son?

Tell my oppressor that "nights always end".
Tell him that my joy comes in the morning.
Although, this pain is difficult to comprehend,
So shall my rise happen without warning.

— The End —