Part 2. Broken Down Shed

Where do I sleep please, Mr?
Where do I lay my Head?
My body is bruised and Aching
Where shall I find my bed?
My feet are sore, my hands are raw.
My head burns from the heat.
Where do I sleep please Mr? 
Now my works complete.

Why when I work so hard for you,
Do you put me in this shed?
With wooden walls and holes for doors
And dirt floors for me to tread.
A bale of straw to scatter round.
One blanket I can see,
So coarse I fear the thought’
Of it touching, covering me.

You huddle us in like cattle,
Man, woman, child and old.
We scramble to find a corner,
To shelter from the cold.
The food you give is scant, it barely sates my pain.
And the rain blows in like torture,
Through the empty window pane.

The little fire burning, 
Brings no release to me.
For the heat it brings soon disappears,
Through the cracks, the holes, the eaves.
The floor beneath is sodden,
And my feet are caked with mud.
And streaks of blood run through it
From my peoples’ blood.

Where do I sleep please Mr?
Keeps running through my head.
Where do I sleep please Mr?
Here in this shed.