When the dawn wakes my sad feet
To the whip of my master crying lazy,
And my bones shake at the rising of
Sorrowful sun I wish could go away,
My heart running the race that the
Light of noon should take its cover,
And my eyes weeping that the dark
Should engulf it to the pain inward,
What will become of my soul?
Will the shackles be broken soon?
Or will the deep bridge be raised?
What will be of me?
Who am I?
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