we worked day and night
yet little did we knew for what
so we kept toiling like the mules of the washer man
Not knowing what we did
but just walk with the whiplash
and then one day
the dhobi is dead
and we are free to run
but we are the slaves of our past
those imaginary chains that
tied us into this world
so we walked every day to the river
and return, but with no master
and with no whiplashes
For we are the slave of this meaningless world
Not knowing what we did
but just walk with the whiplash
and then one day
the dhobi is dead
and we are free to run
but we are the slaves of our past
those imaginary chains that
tied us into this world
so we walked every day to the river
and return, but with no master
and with no whiplashes
For we are the slave of this meaningless world
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