Run father run ! them landed arrive run
Your old legs wither'd, but they kill if fun !
They be the blessed children of the light
We are but the lowly lives of this night
Our women are theirs, these lands they own
We till for gold, till theirs, for pennies shown
Our voice is just a blow, scream to wear gallows !
We are but lowly, now the dreams are shallow
Run father run ! they have taken a sister
While we fled, could we have missd her ?
Put down your sickle ! I beg you to bow
Attack not them fair, mercy they shan't show
But thence rose the old man, eyes a bloody river
He wouldn't save his child, His, He'd give her
Upon seeing the old farmer, woke men, nay fled
Sickles rose, heads fell and them white lands bled
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