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The terror came like a storm destruction like a whirlwind
distress and anguish upon my people again, again and again

How could this have happened to them?
betrayed by their own for a few trinkets and some gems
taken away from their families and from the motherland
forced to become slaves and property of an unrighteous man

Chained together and marched like prisoners on to those foreign ships
treated worse than mindless cattle; beaten, branded and whipped
crammed and packed together like sardines in a tin can
barely room to breath, barely room to stand
the stench and disease in that filthy dank place
our people dying in the darkness, no sun upon their face
some prayed for death others prayed for salvation
all prayed for God to end this horrible degradation

When I try to imagine the Middle Passage that my ancestors endured
I feel such anger and violence which I can ill-afford
but this Maafa is something that must be revealed
we must acknowledge it as a people so that we can one day heal
we must never forget the past nor our ancestors sacrifice
their blood is the root of our struggles, their hope the foundation of our lives

From the Congo to the Cross from the Middle Passage they arrived
from the Congo to the Cross their faith in God helped them survived
they sang songs of praise they sang songs of hope
they sang to Father God to give them the strength to cope
never forget the past and just keep hope alive
remember always the journey from which our ancestors derived

Maafa, Maafa in remembrance of their blood stains
the Middle Passage in our hearts it will forever remain

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