The tyrant broods in his distant castle,
Plucking adversaries out of the air
To languish in the dungeons of his lair;
Every man, woman and child his vassal.
Yet, even at the zenith of his power,
Despots abroad with critical tongues
Will conceal their own by speaking his wrongs,
Each hoping to baulk their reckoning hour.
And secure they are while people can’t see
The chains that bind them to separate lands
Are being forged and re-forged by their own hands:
If they saw the links they might set themselves free.
What holds in thrall all working folk et al
Is the despotism of capital.