We feel freedom as a lioness rampant
That which towers
In bloody showers
With the passing of hours in which we are free

We feel scorn as a bowl full of water
Chilling our bones
Destroying our homes
With harshest tones that we can rise above

Hidden in your shack, peasant one
Sick to jarring
Sunset marring
With its beauty your foolish pain

If the peasants will not fight for their rights
How can they expect someone to come and save them?