From the hollowness of the cave I come, the echo of a cry
Of pain, the shadow of a slave
Whose sole salvation was the grave.
My bone fertilizes the earth,
My blood lubricates the machine,
My sweat waters the field: my worth
Was predetermined at my birth.
1 carve my memory on rock,
Preserve my grief in song.
Slammed by the racket like a shuttlecock From this to that imperial block.
Broken in spirit and in frame,
I stand on the verge of tomorrow With the incubus of my shame:
Without identity, without a name.