They Want Us Dead.

Our pie they snatched,
They set us against us;
They whet our appetites to crave,
For brothers' hearts,
Our choked throats itch:
Thirsting for blood,
And on the verge of ruin...
We crumble!
They want us dead,
Them foes! Them foes!

Oh, master, blast them!

Go tell them,
We aren't rodents to die of poison.
Let them waste more on them in stores,
They need not hire assassins,
But hide our dough in starving banks yonder,
Our fate is sealed.
Them foes! Them foes!

They masquerade as true torchbearers.
They laze and venerate on impossible possibilities,
And out air them a strange gospel!
Our deformed dreams wane,
When big heads with small brains raid,
Our chronic deficiencies:
Issuing retrenchment and pay-cut toasts,
More scary than a thousand death sentences!
And we, small heads with enormous brains shiver--
Afraid of turbulence looming.
Them foes! them foes!

Orchestrate into their deaf elephant ears,
Alone we're gay;
Them foes fade away!
With their expensive aid,
Let them others rob;
But laze assured,
We won't help when needy,
Them foes! Them foes!
(c) Pius Khisa.