Thursday, 29 January 2015

We The Labouring Masses.

     What insanity we tolerate, we who create everything, live with poverty continually knocking at our door, and those who create nothing wallow in unimaginable wealth, and splendour. We sweat and toil to feed an army of parasites. From the fishing boat, to the super luxury yacht, from the football stadium to the lakeside mansion, we created them. Then because of some totally irrational line of thought, we hand them to the do nothing brigade, who grow fatter and fatter on our sweat.

We the people have, every brick laid,
have fed the world with sweat and spade,
every instrument played in every band
created by the skill of the craftsman's hand.
We made every truck and every load,
our toil our effort every winding road,
every ship that ever sailed the sea,
our power our imagination made it be.
Cities and towns large and small,
our labouring hands fashioned them all,
every home, every spire,
luxury mansion or humble byre.
No matter what dreams the mind might spawn
without labour's hand they'll never see the light of dawn,
without labour's strength and labour's skill,
we would be foraging beasts in a jungle still.
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  1. We are the ocean in which the yacht sails, and we can sink it!

    1. We are long past the time for sinking it, something has to be done soon.