I was in the forest when the Lords rode past
in a pack, drunk.
They are the law.
Do what thou wilt, their motto.
Their swords hacked branches, cattle,
and the men and women who did not run,
who could not escape the chase.
As then, so it is now.
Cruel winter cuts us bare.
The masters steal our food,
and keep our eyes away from the distance
they have wedged between us.
The long toil of quarters
ties you to your bed.
Will you arise?
Who will stand with you?