My last master saw me as of no more
And sold me back like an over-used toy.
Now a bird in the cage, no room to soar.
To them, I am an object; used and destroyed.
Others rest beside me, waiting as well
For the slave tables now await to sell.
We go, one by one, as our feelings dwell
All the way up to the crowd's echoed yell.
The cold chains on our scarred and bruised skin burns.
Our stomachs growl and ache for real food.
To think they wonder why we fall and turn
Just to get beat up again and subdued.
I will not stand by and let this hell run free.
I will free myself from this, wait and see.