White Horse Hill
Barren lie our homes, our women
Whilst our children fall ill
Idle lie our men, our fields
In the shadow of White Horse Hill
This is how it was once
How it had been for the decades before
And maybe even centuries
Fields were tilled, then crops borne
Homes were built and families grew
Children nurtured until they bore their own
Our vast fields ran further than any eye could hope to see
And their harvests left no table bare
No matter the storm’s ferocity
Or the how sharp the teeth of the coldest wind
None went without safety or warmth
Just as our currency was truth
Just as our courts let any man's mind be spoken
And for the longest of times
We never knew of any other way
Every man, woman and child here today
Knows of love only through stories and tales
From those old enough to recall but it has long left us
It is a fool’s gold that makes rich a man now
And your truth will buy you only the lonely walk
To our hungry gallows
Few are the children born of love or family
Their place taken by spawn of rape and of pillage
The word of few is law, those fluent in lie and half-truth
Theirs is a poetry of deceit
