Dead exports

The stench of anger of nervousness
Unflinchingly we carry stress
Loaded aboard this mighty ship
And into the hold we soon lose grip
We shit ourselves yes one by one
The stench of sailing has begun
Live exports really should be named
Dead exports as our hearts inflamed
By pain and anger by evil smells
We stand in each other shit
It tells
It’s own story the ugliness
Of being shipped with the vilest stress
No food to eat no drink at all
No dr checking when we call
Haunting images day and night
And death on arrival
We lose the light
We lose our breath
We lose everything
In this evil shit hole
Where man is king