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Holy Water I don't know what get in Massa's head an have him think a generous whip make me a better slave. Don't know who told that lie 'bout whiskey making ugly pretty or drinking taking pain away. But what else put a song in your mouth when there be nothing left to sing 'bout? What else let you laugh at the hand full a salt rubbed deep into your own bloody flesh? Make you forget how much you hates being alive? Make you believe you can drown all your loss, all your fears, an wash away any thoughts a revenge? It seem like the life ova slave is only the first parts a Easter So, I sprinkle myself, bare my back an swallow. ...

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