This chain
Around my ankle
Is much too tight
And it rubs the skin raw.
My bed,
My bed
Is the grass at night,
The rocks and all.
The Captain drives us on.
A road,
A road,
To build him a road,
To build the road
In payment for our sin.
My sin,
My sin
Was only to eat,
Only to live.
So my sin was to strike.
Illustration: South Carolina Chain Gang, source unknown
No comments:
Post a Comment