Hammers Of Misfortune - Agriculture lyrics

Hands upon harrows Heels in the weeds Starving and harvesting Down centuries Pheasants in fields to be hunted and plucked Such is their ration of sixpenny luck Multinous Мужикѕ Who mutter in tongues They frighten the horses Of fortunate sons Absent the rustics, what have they become? Only on Sunday their tears weakly run More or less murder? One simple order It's just history's whisper A secret to leave in the field Hands upon harrows and heels in the weeds Treason and guillotines, gallows and thieves Angular hayseeds once furrowed this land Picturesque reapers with skeletal hands Proles are more portly now, mouths open wide Tipping the scales we so kindly provide Skeletal hands were our strata's delight But oh so offensive on opening night