The Place once called Pays

The place once called Pays

The child was condemned to a life of servitude and slavery,

All the protests against the chains clattered in vain

The oppressor got good at the game so well that

The child's parents became the surrogate rebukers

Stopping any sign of waywardness with stern reprimand.

The fallacy had been so strong: reward benefits hard work.

As the children played around the yard, they believed it all.

They will change their world and make it better for posterity.

The sweetness of innocence veiling the promise of doom

That shines on the other side of the dark tunnel of Pays.

Poor children caged in the sweetness and bliss of now

The boys will grow up with no manhood and the girls,

Will be sent off to satisfy the old men's caprices and desires

While their parents will bask in the glory of the crumbs

That the Diner's bloated overflowing greed could not contain.

And the clan says we all should be quiet and toe the line,

There's nothing you can do they say, everyone knows

That you cannot beat the Emperor cause he has it all:

The power to emasculate and and impose his whims

Even on the most resilient combatants for justice.

Mothers harassed for the crimes of their children and

Children forever banished for the straying of forebears.

Normalcy in Kamerland forever tainted by the stench

Of 50 of tied hands and lips and pungent kakistocracy.

There are no more soldiers: they are dead or too fat.

The wisdom of the old woman stands tall and perennial:

The lack of dissent is the beginning of perdition it goes.

As we are all muzzled one by one, the dark day lurks

When the emperor shall become the sphinx of his loin's

And we shall marvel at how young and handsome he is.

Not too long from now we shall mourn and say there once

Was a land called Kamerland that others called "pays".

Farewell, we'll speak of you more, but we'll miss you.