With their heads down, staring at the ground,
With their ears full of lies spoken by vile serpents
Eyes bright with an ignorant hope of glory
They do not see the clouds over their heads.
They walk off without water, without food,
They know not of the distance and the cold wind,
They know not of the rains and the hail storms,
They do not know and they do not care.
Very mortal and very weak
Like heather, they bend as wind strikes them down,
But their ears are closed, their eyes are alight with ignorance,
Such are the men of service. Such are the men of labor.
Such are the Masses of the Downtrodden in this country.
It is time they listen to the songs of the bold and truth of the light
If they do not, very few shall remain on the peaks to lead.
It is time they pay heed to the clouds o’er their heads.
For the rain is cold.
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