By Christopher Black
There was once a tree called Justice here
All gnarled but strong with age,
Till a tyrant one night dark, in bitter fear,
With sharpened axe of rage,
Did pile the limbs for all to see,
As he quickly cut it low,
To burn the books of Liberty,
On flames red with murders’ glow,
There was once an idea very bold,
Democracy I heard,
Though no one knows, with tales so old,
For they lie with every word,
Dark drops of opium in every phrase they say,
“Have hope, my friends, we truly feel your pain,”
While through the night and through the day,
We wait, in cold and bitter rain,
There was once a bell of Brotherhood
That rang loud so all could hear,
From town to town to edge of wood,
But lies silent now with fear.
Cracked, it rests among the tombs,
Atomic ash and dust,
While smiling men in secret rooms,
Plan wars for which they lust.
And once there was Enlightenment
And Reason’s voice sang sweet,
Of Rights of Man and truths we now lament,
Murdered with impunity, cut down on every street,
So now we must renew our song,
Our struggle take another form,
For the days run dark, the nights are long,
The winds howl before the storm.
