I still remember, the freedom and the trees I was surrounded by

Suddenly replaced by the dark stink of a crowded cargo hold

A collective nightmare sailing during an endless night

Hundred days it shall last, until you finally reach the new world

Centuries pass by, on a pace dictated by wasted lives

Never ending stock to satisfy the masters’ delight

Bitter tasting freedom as gift for troubling strive

Lawful masters's justice whose sirens stand for our plight

Unwelcome existences whose life's shorter and with no place to return

Black is the past whose ancestor’s hidden and cannot be found

Black becomes the present, whose cities to ashes must burn

Black is the future, once we turn to only chalk lines on the ground

  The father asked by his son about the meaning of this grief

  Unstoppably cries as he may be the next one to say I can’t breathe