Rome never looks where she treads
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Always her heavy hooves fall
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On our stomachs, our hearts and our heads
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And Rome never hears when we bawl
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Her sentries pass on -- that is all
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And we gather behind them in hordes
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And plot to reconquer the Wall
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With only our tongues for our swords
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For we are the little folk -- we!
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Too little to love or to hate
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Leave us alone and you'll see
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That we can bring down the state
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Mistletoe killing an oak
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Rats gnawing cables in two
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Moths making holes in a cloak
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How they must love what they do!
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Yes -- and we little folk too
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We are as busy as they
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Working our works out of view
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Watch, and you'll see it some day
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No indeed! We are not strong
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But we know of Peoples that are
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Yes and we'll guide them along
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To smash and destroy you in war
|
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We shall be slaves just the same?
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Yes, we have always been slaves
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But you -- you will die of the shame
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And then we will dance on your graves
|
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We are the worm in the wood!
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We are the rot at the root!
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We are the taint in the blood!
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We are the thorn in the foot!
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Rudyard Kipling
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-----------------
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A Pict Song
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| Billy Bragg |
