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作曲 : Windborne Singers |
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作词 : 艾内斯特•琼斯 |
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We plough and sow, we are so low, that we delve in the dirty clay, |
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‘Til we bless the plain with golden grain and the vale with the fragrant hay. |
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Our place we know we are so low, down at the landlord’s feet. |
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We’re not too low the bread to grow but too low the bread to eat. |
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We’re low, we’re low, we are so low yet from our fingers glide |
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The silken flow and the robes that glow round the limbs of the sons of pride. |
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And what we get and what we give we know and we know our share: |
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We’re not too low the cloth to weave but too low the cloth to wear. |
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Down down we go, we are so low, to the hell of the deep-sunk mine, |
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But we gather the proudest gems that glow when the crown of the despot shines. |
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Whenever he lacks upon our backs fresh loads he deigns to lay. |
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We’re far too low to vote the tax but not too low to pay. |
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We’re low, we’re low as to war we go to fight some foreign country |
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That was yesterday our greatest friend, but today’s our enemy. |
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“God bless our boys!” the papers scream, |
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“Praise them!” the churchmen cry. |
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When the war is won and home we come, who cares if we live or die? |
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We’re low, so low, into boats we go to flee war in our home country, |
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And we’ll try to make a better life when we land across the sea. |
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But it’s “Send them back!” the press cries out, |
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“Back to where they came!” |
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We’re far too low to feed and clothe but not too low to blame. |
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We are so low but soon we know that the low folk will arise, |
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And the tyrants in their tow’rs of gold shall hear the people’s cries! |
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No more shall they hold us in thrall; their lies we will not heed. |
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But every heart shall hear the call, and the people will be free! |