Eighth of November

Where were you, when the dam gave way?
What did you do on that glorious day?

Before–we were young–they took us aside
On our blank faces they etched their dull lies

All history’s sins were ours to atone
We’d reap Equality, from passion sown

Like Soviet farmers we took to the task
Redoubling our efforts with every collapse

We told our own children, to prove their good worth
Endure the hateful, the dim, the wretched of Earth

These they brought to us, admonishing still
We could never really settle this bill

And when those good people, presumed so meek
Demonstrate the strong and cruel rule the streets

Sacking your homes, defiling your daughters
This too is your blame; on with the slaughter!

Where were you, when the dam gave way?
Did you feel that, like some cosmic sway?

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