The Plight of Peasants

Careful King, know your place; for a king's duty is to his people. It follows now that a tyrant crown, gathers no mercy from his people. We speak not with insolence, but the knowledge of eons, gathered by a million lives. We remember all our days; we have lived a thousand times. We have seen kings come and go, and felled many whom wore that crown. Careful King, watch your step; for we hear every sound. We hear your every whisper; all your sins we've found. Through every wall, and every door, we watch you laugh and cry. There is no secret that your have kept that we cannot find. There are no veils that blind us, no chains that binds us, no light that finds us. We cannot be halted, our blades gnash like the bloody teeth in the maw that rend your avarice. We are the tillers of soil, the sowers of seed and the reapers of harvest. We are the maids that make your bed. The servants that serve your tea. The chefs that keep you fed. The guards that guard your sleep. Sleep well my king, in your snow white bed. Eaten well and all well fed. We give these gifts willingly, if that wasn't already said But wrongs us not for we would not want the sheets be stained blood red.
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