The birds are approaching in their thousands appear ,
now sit down here and let me lend me you’re ear .
For the harvest is ripened ,
and the birds steal  it’s grain ,
for man toils in sorrow ,
and nothing will he gain .

For  His sons and his daughters are starving
and the church takes his land ,
his crops
for the kings subjects own nothing ,
and die in their shame
for monistories and land
Holy war crusaders who march without debt,
for all the kings horses ,
Power and wealth .


And then came famine and war ,
Pestilence and plague
death and disease ,
like never before .
“;bring out you’re dead ,”:
as  England’s pleasant lands were stripped of their . Wealth .

O,wreath of the nations where brave men hath trod
and carried the cross ,
for those who have nought .
And brought reforms where once slavery was rife ,
to the families who have children ,
a home and a wife .
And held up banners at factory gates ,
where machines and smoke brought nothing but death on a
Plate .

How tender the years that brings but tears ,
that brings forth the grain ,
with the sickle and shear .

For once the grains have been harvested
and the birds have all fled ,
the farmers wife still
brings home nothing once her family’s been fed .
o


....