Like this:

You washed my dirty hands—

            My hands that is full of blood.

Like a balm, you touched my arms with care

            And blowing out the dirt that enters my eyes.

 

Then you toured me inside the fruit company

            With sacks, trays of bananas, pineapples, cherries.

You gave me all kinds of fruits to taste,

            All the fruits sugared with death.

 

I stand in front of the trays of bananas

            And you let me tasted all of them,

Letting me to become bloated

            For I’d tasted the sweetness of racial prejudice.

 

Then you smoothly touched my face

            With all your soft, godly hands;

Taking out my blindness, innocence,

            And lending your light appraised by the times.

 

Now, you let me see the entire

            United Fruit Company.

There, I remembered my hometown.

Like my hometown, the United Fruit Company

            Gives the sweetness of their deathly fruits

Until you took one of the Company’s

            Precious fruit gems,

Showing me the entire mystery

            That the fruit was actually corrupted

Yet the bastard flies keeps on repainting

            The fruits to its deceptive freshness.

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