We poor rise respond to the dust of bosses our mortal fate masters toil until and past all aching breath of flesh considered free when given the choice where to sweat and bleed appreciative as of gift We poor rise our only strength in numbers yet weakened as armies clerks and task masters dependent upon largesse bootlickers and handmen voices chained the holler what these above demand even the will to wail We poor rise find solace in the eyes of Gods handed down hollow warped by design to control our bodies by lying to our spirits promise of citadel mortar brick stained glass ain't no safe house religion We poor rise lavish upon our Children hope and a peace of bread water bites torn nipple open a vein to sustain them drain ourselves of necessity and when the time comes with a sigh of defeat fall back and hand them over We poor rise attended by unfathomed ecstasy know ourselves as gifted for as we cease to look out and begin to see in the reward of solitude a forced march to self denied a life of privilege though certain of defeat We poor rise count our two and twenty a foot upon the spade the length and width of a man give homage to the Earth and the sweat of our brethren no weakness in death here with six men to carry we plant ourselves like weeds