As I work through the indigneous fields,

The work is vey hard than I can bare.

As this work goes throught the poignant yields,

I can feel on my body the wear and tear.

As I pick through the verdant maelstrom,

My mind goes from ethreal to despair.

My heart has the beating of a snare drum,

Sometimes I wish I could live without care.

Work is the burden of my soul,

Taking away life from freedom.

Sometimes I would like to know,

Why wasn't I born in a kingdom?

I know dreams of mine will not come true,

But sometimes I wish I could be like you.