*a poem placed in Old Town*

  • The rules that they write in order to govern
    Are not going to put bread into your oven
    They wish only to let you die in the street
    Their slaves in the pit not a morsel to eat

    They collar free will with the legionnaires cloak
    But a word ‘gainst this treatment and surely you’ll choke
    Take the breath from your body until you be dead
    For refusing to kill just for taking their bread

    We who rise from these cobbles refuse to be told
    Making slaves out of thieves is not how to be bold
    They will suffer for conspiring against those who are free
    There’ll be blood in their palaces, this you shall see

    Be you human, inhuman, criminal or not
    If knowledge forbidden is what is now sought
    There’s a place in these cobbles for those such as you
    Power and greatness, ye shall dine with the few

    Anterus La Croix

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