We were free,
unable to see the omen,
turned into captives.
In a Barracoon we were derivatives,
bootleg merchandise
piled in the bottom of pirate ships.
On arrival we were traded into slavery
deemed savages by savagery.

Hope is in infinite supply for those in love,
we could afford it because it was cheap.
We plotted freedom in an infested alcove,
in a house soon to crumble.
They called it emancipation.
We called it correction of an abomination.
Like all free men we got our plots
grew our food in small lots;
still, we remember how to weave.
We trade our skills as we must.
Burned is the Clotilda vessel of our fate,
a fire to hide from the state,
evidence of a crime in brazen defiance.
In power you break rules at your convenience.
Africatown is voice over exit, our choice.
There is no back to Africa,
home for a bird is wherever it nests and sings.
We are here until the sun dies, bearing witness.