At play in fields of mines and trees.
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to speak what is and what could be.
This world though hard remains unseen.
for what is true is but a dream.
as when one learns on wakening.
that dreams are spectres wandering.
So show your selves, of scant but air.
And let your dreams of want despair.
for pushing what you do with might.
you steal from those who have thier rights.
And push us straight from birth to death.
to ignore life and do our best.
though when the truth is seen as is.
you care for none but for what is.
you shout freedom when no-one's free.
none are ignored as much as we.
for years you've done you very "best"
gave us some and kept the rest.
when all is gone and all have left.
and all your dreams leave you bereft.
then will you see you ways of rot
and none will give your lives a thought.