sometimes I think that everyone is against me,
They are grabbing me,
Backstabbing me,
Crushing me, suffocating me,
I am everyone’s doormat, I hate this feeling of worthiness
I don’t have any more fight left in me,
They hang me from the highest tree,
with a rope around my neck
They show me no respect.
My spirit is broken, my soul is tormented
My heart is torn, so huge is my pain
I want to be born again
Old expeditions die,
I want to be proud,
I want to hold my head up high
I can’t stand bigots, I am hurting big time,
my cries are for a mother that I never knew,
No cuddling, nurturing, no mothers love at all,
Life was hush when I was small,
Waking up to upheaval and torment every day,
no joy, no happiness, no love at all life was hard when I was small,
watching popa beat muma time and time again,
No one knows her pain.
Popa is a wicket man he has the upper hand
He beats us until our bodies are broken beyond mending,
No one hears our cries, under the dark St Helena skies,
We would pray every day that comfort would come our way’
mumas motto was to pray, pray and pray
I am not cynical there is nothing worse than being a cynic,
when my day is done, don’t cremate me don’t burn my soul,
leave my body whole,
let my body become one with this great earth, .
I open my eyes I awake To a beautiful sunrise,
Dreams are only dreams,
A new day begins,
with me or without me.