Traces Of The Trade


Handcuffs of heavy
Iron hold my wrists
As i walk towards
The neverending se
From whitin i hear
The voices of my ancient ones
Crying out loud, feeling my misery

Bondage, servitude
The triangle is insatiable
Bondage, servitude
A trade ordained by god himself

A hundred souls that
Are bounded to forget the meaning
Of what is to be free
Aware that a third of us
Are certainly to die
Hell is here, and the devil is white

Nauseating stench of vomit:
Blood, sweat, piss, shit
Morally monstrous destruction
Of human possibility

Hear the whip of the slaveship
Profitable suffering
Slaveship, hear the whip
The traces of the trade
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