Feudal serfdom

Feudal serfdom

The devil rides on horseback

As the poor boy works the land

There never was an angel

In the gloaming

Nor the lights of a multitude

Winding through the twilight

Looking for a miracle

Just a bone-breaking snap

Of the whip boys

The four-bar gate

In the bottom field

Is never opened

It keeps the demons out

In

As the ghosts of old heroes

Skirting the edges

Of reasoning

Melt into the undergrowth

Where evil shadows sway

Imagination plays hopscotch

With the truth

And the hazard of occupation

Slips into the banal

Pale riders were approaching

Until the moment

The cold mist cleared

To reveal nothing

But a barren field

Too many years left fallow

Much like an old man

Who once was young

Dreaming of his freedom

Living in the city

Only to wake up one day

To find

He had never left the farm behind

It was in his blood

Ground dirt in his hands

Beneath his fingernails

Was there ever any way to escape

A three-field cycle

And a poor harvest

As the devil rides on horseback

The poor boy works the land