When by the labour of my ′ands I′ve ′elped to pack a transport tight With prisoners for foreign lands, I ain′t transported with delight. I know it′s only just an′ right, But yet it somehow sickens me, For I ′ave learned at Waterval The meanin′ of captivity. Be′ind the pegged barb-wire strands, Beneath the tall electric light, We used to walk in bare-′ead bands, Explainin′ ′ow we lost our fight; An′ that is what they′ll do to-night Upon the steamer out at sea, If I ′ave learned at Waterval The meanin′ of captivity. They′ll never know the shame that brands, Black shame no livin′ down makes white, The mockin′ from the sentry-stands, The women′s laugh, the gaoler′s spite. We are too bloomin′-much polite, But that is ′ow I′d ′ave us be... Since I ′ave learned at Waterval The meanin′ of captivity. They′ll get those draggin′ days all right, Spent as a foreigner commands, An′ ′orrors of the locked-up night, With ′Ell′s own thinkin′ on their ′ands. I′d give the gold o′ twenty Rands (If it was mine) to set ′em free, For I ′ave learned at Waterval The meanin′ of captivity!
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