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a line of us
erect like fossilied timber;
Naked and cold;
examined by bold
evil eyes
that foretold
of our plight.
We were stripped of our rights
as citizens;
like shipwrecked Gilligan's.
Our Massa
is the warden of the prison,
and the crackers
are his backers;
no whips
but their acts're
nonetheless brutal.
A plea would prove futile,
for they're programmed
to be cruel.
We showered and shaved,
then were gave
a number for our name.
For we're just worthless slaves
on a huge plantation.
Our dwellings are stationed
inside a barb wire fence
with gunners waiting
in towers up high;
for the courageous
who try to escape,
When they know they will die.