You work me,
You beat me.
The slashes on my back tell the stories of a thousand cries,
screams.

This burden I carry,
this place where I lie,
tells you everything.
And I hate it.

You hurt me,
you contain my spirit,
for what I get from you,
is nothing but a penny a week.

You think you have us controlled,
every single one of us,
held down by your ropes of hatred,
but some spirits have not been stolen,
manipulated from our strong, worked hands.

We are too valuble,
too strong,
I may be opressed,
We all may be,
But you'll never break us,
you'll never break me.