The time must pass,
The past must change.

The future comes
And slips away.

These men who think
Our lives are games.

Their toys to break
Their things to play.

They preach of  “crimes”
they hate and scorn .

They want us gone
Each night and day.

No crime to name
Except our own.

Monuments of wars we’ve won,
Reduced to bits, as if undone.

And yet we march
And yet we scream,

“We will fight
We will not break.

Under your boot
We will not stay.

Not before
And not today.”