Take a broken barrow and load it up with stones,
Wheel it ‘cross the broken bridge made from broken bones,
Heave it to the hall of kings sitting on their thrones,
Leave it at the wall where rings of paupers cry their mournful moans,
Let them build their crumbled cairns in honour of the Gods,
Fill the air with empty prayer and hopeful eyes from knowing nods,
Let the lightning strike the ground around as furious fiery rods,
Let it scorch air and burn the fields of grass to ashen sods,
Place a wistful wish upon the cracked lips of the weak,
That they may quietly whisper in the manner of the meek,
For only sinful souls would have the brazenness to speak,
Let them see their suffering as what makes them unique,
Tell them that salvation will be their just reward,
Quiet their frustration so they don’t take up the sword,
Instil love of nation to suppress the raging hoard,
Leave their inculcation to the chairman of the board,
Chain them to their labours with a multitude of loans,
So they can't even take ownership of their meagre homes,
Make them load the broken barrow heavy with the stones,
So they must walk the broken bridge built of broken bones.