Snarl
Through the fields and o’er the hills, a savage wind takes command! So, come on now—eat and drink, eat and drink, don’t waste a bite, For the jackals and the shadows, now’s their moment, now’s their night!
Eat and drink and grab it all, fill your pockets, fill your chest, Lunchtime found you in your rags, dinnertime—you’re richly dressed! Eat and drink and rob the rest, hoard your treasures, hoard your gold, Till the people, kind and patient, spit out “sure” as they’re controlled!
They exist to serve your glory, all their work and sweat and pain, Are just meals for your great mouth—long live the jackal’s reign! Thank the Lord, no better life, what delight, what joy, what bliss— And when someone comes to beg you, curl your lips and clench your fists!
Eat and drink and rob some more, this is now the jackals’ age; Eat and drink and rob some more, crooks are kings upon the stage! Eat and drink, steal and collect all the shares and monopolies, Excellencies, Highnesses, tutti quanti, as you please!
Your fine signature in banks is worth millions on its own, And your chest is proudly flashing medals like “Grand Cordon!” Then you dare demand respect from a poor and beaten race, That they call you, full of honor, “Your Excellency,” to your face.
And be praised forever more as a hero, bold and grand— If there’s a God who still allows this, damn that God, and damn this land! That fine ribbon on your chest, pinned with such false dignity, Is the bloodied spit of homeland, drowned in red hypocrisy.
And the throne you proudly sit on, dragging honor through the dirt, Is the gallows where each morning hangs the nation, hurt by hurt. And you, bloated in your pride, barking at the honest men, Mock the brave and call them fools again and yet again!
You parade and strut in halls, as your master gives the cue, While the enemy’s own fingers tug your nose and lead you through. Long live your foreign sponsor, who now laughs and shakes his head, Gave you four fake ranks of glory, just because of what you said!
Time now trembles, twists and turns—it will soon unwind its thread, And the rotten fruit inside will be flung out with the dead! Time now trembles, twists and turns—and when all your grades are gone, You’ll be left with just one mark: a black stamp upon your dawn!
But you all, who had no hunger, who had no true wound or grief, Were the first to kiss the tyrant, calling “Peace!” like a good thief. Just to earn a cushioned chair, you bowed lower than a snake, Till you nailed yourselves like bastards at the enemy’s own gate!
You don’t hunger, you don’t thirst—only care for titles vain, While the village burns to ashes… the top whore combs her mane. COMMENTS:
Posted May 4, 2025, 4:40 PM UTC