PAGE FIVE
LIVERPOOL, THE CITY OF CULTURE
Over endless sands and veiled parish
They hunt for gold far away in Africa
Where the sun feels hot, the soil cracks
With intense fury and brutal draught.
They round up humans
With violence and aggression
As if they�re from caves
God has made them slaves.
The multi-deck ships moor at the Albert dock
Over the seasons, these come in blocks
To the right where I stand
No boulders to have my vision blocked.
The troops of sin that created their destiny
Destroyed the families for dark skinned Africans
Their open spaces stolen, their rights denied
Tortured, in exchange for the life for sardines.
Men in khakis, canvas hats and sideburns
A Havana, dry-stock hanging from their lips
A lucrative consignment of human flesh
Painful memories from decked tall ships.
Renegade men hand picked and armored
Cage free souls, sale in live-flesh auctions
Rows and rows of humans in shackles
Weaklings have no bids, more vigor, more jingles.
This metropolis of Liverpool a land of the Beatles
That shrieks from memories of chained humans
A slow torture, worse than animals
Cut into flesh with wrought iron shackles.
A black spot era in the evolution of mankind
Where decent humans justified morality
And God allowed good men to be blind as God-send
To rise so slow and to stop the few
That squeezed blood from caged men.
History has precedence; we witness in great reins
In Egypt, in Rome, on streets of Mesopotamia
The slaves with chains jingle along the roads
Now the trend is in reverse, we import slaves no more.
Standing at Liverpool docks, I feel I was there
I was the one with a gun, as their tears wet my boots
Though the chains didn�t cut my wrists at the time
Claiming to be a human, it hurts me more.