Hands raw and bleeding, let me die was his pleading
Back scared and aching, movements lumbered and shaking
Beaten and mistreated, paid nothing like he'd been cheated
Less human then the rags on his back, his number was one, zero, nine, eight

Lips cracked and mouth parched, this had been his fate
Sold not for his life, but sold to save his wife
No amount of wishing could make it go, nothing to relieve this whoa
Cursed daily, by his owner, the hateful man

No word to speak, or the future would be bleak
So in silence half animal, half tangible
Alone not one lifting a finger, they leave him to linger
He worked from that day, until his head turned grey

No more whips, no more blood stained strips?
No more hunger, no more wonder?
No more fearing, all that's left is silent tearing?
Number one, zero, nine, eight, has been, no wait!

He's been freed? finally someone has done the deed?
Could it be that he's been liberated? all his chains have been obliterated?
Finally able to choose his next action? no longer at the mercy of this infraction?
Could it be he's just as human as you and me?

But no it's on with the shows and on with the everyday pettish whoa's
Worried about this worried about that, what color? what mat?
Busy as ants, but heartless as heathens
It is shameful and without reason; it is simply treason!

So tell them how it be, tell them how we must set him free!
So let God be our witness, that we've done all we can
Tried to make them see his pains, forced upon the weights of his chains
But they are too hard pressed, just too finely dressed


So it looks as if Number one, zero, nine, eight, will have to wait
They know he's out there, they know his fate
And they mourn his death, and relate in despair
But what do they do? And what do they care?