Echoes from Ramses

In the days of our chains in Ramses,

our masters woke us with whips,

we ate chaffs for lunch,

took vinegar for dinner.

Each strike of the whip,

didn't just pierce our bodies,

each drilled wells of bitterness in us,

I was bitter.

I wasnt really looking for freedom,

as I worked the blood in my veins stretched,

and cried for vengeance,

I felt the cruelty of the oppressor even in my dreams.

All these agonies,

until I read about the promise.

We were just meant to pass through Egypt,

the horrors of slavery was part of Yahweh's plan,

400 years? Hmm.

The wisdom of His plan,

drained me of my bitter strength,

yet I was in wonder

I could no longer make bricks with anger,

I thought of the glory of God,

Now each whip,

draw tears from my spirit,

not from my wounds or scars.

My master needs help,

his trust is in his whip. 

As for us,

what is our lot?

of what use is our pain or scars,

if our blood and sweat,

does not speak life to Pharaoh?