The Break Through

With the shackles we emancipated freedom;
Freedom we knew as seldom,
We are from the kingdom,
Of depression;
And oppression,

Our oppressors know, but not mercy;
They have no sympathy,
And empathy,

All they say is the hard work I call hard labour;
Sometimes, they can harbour,
Behind daylight darkness;
And execute the terror;
Like a maestro,
To the lad.

O villain, why the hammer:
Is it carpentry,
Where you labour nails in woods?
To join disjointed bones into symbols
Of mightier value and worth
To attract customary customers

Why beating my butchered body every return?
Hence, I'm behind the bar
Why seek my soul behind the bars again?
I can hear, feel and see your ugly look
Only that I am too dump to speak
If you trust your repentance
Blow the trumpet again.