The Peon’s Dilemma

How is a man to bear cruel order's hand?
The strangling grasp of powers above him,
The hand that turns his bright vision dim,
The boot that flattens his mind's hilly lands,
The boot that grinds his mind's great rocks to sand?
What helpful advice would you give to him?
How can once be saved from prospects so grim?
How can he suffer order's harsh commands?
If I were such a man, or knew someone
Who only found solace lying in bed
Who's only joy is found when day is done
Who's ever working moment's filled with dread
I'd say to such a man to find a gun
And swiftly put a bullet through his head


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