He came to this country with a dream
A man with no face yet his eyes have a special gleam
Hands to work is all he has
In this country that his life is all it wants
I don’t want your name
Says the owner of the farm
All I want is your hands, arms, and legs
So my tomatoes you can carry to the barn
Clean the dust, the floors and walls
I don’t care who you are
Just do your work says the madam
Is he Japanese, Mexican or Chinese?
I don’t care as long as he leaves my clothes clean
Although he is treated as a slave
His gleam is present yet
Since his family has food on their plate
He loves this place
But the place does not love him back
Regulations, bans, and laws
Are all excluding his people from the land
Even those who put their face
On the paper with their name
Lose their voice since they are no white men
Where is his face?
At the dessert, or the sea
Back home probably
But who cares?
He can work, the boxes he can lift
He can climb the ladder
And the holes dig
His gleam will never disappear
But you can also see now fear
On his stare
Since he knows
That they might someday be there
And they won’t see a working man
But a nasty criminal
He sometimes comes home
And says to himself
I’m here, but I’m not.
