Working hard, I can't stop
Or the racecar or the whip will race along my back
My back, covered with a color of skin
That has condemned me.
The burn of the sun
is healing compared to the leather.
Is hurts, it whips, it stings.
It lashes open my skin.
My skin burning me,
my skin hurting me.
The dark shape harms me,
for my skin is as pale as the moon.
The tables have turned.
It is our turn to die.
So, did I trick you? :) I tried to imagine a world where the racism was the other way around. I would be a slave in this scene.