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lyrics
6. Mother of all woe
What games have been played with tailored flesh!
The tapestries become bindings in their great length
Recording the banal missives of oppression
The fragility of man’s endeavours
They have bestowed us with each link
Forged in the fires of partition
The cages wrought unwillingly unwillingly
Each bar placed with their own words,
with their own words.
Tears, the blood, the sweat,
Quotas filled when all are shed
The labours gone unacknowledged
Shackles grimly greased
The only residue of their toil
She, who stays the raised fist
And fashions blades in secret places
She, the livid experience
Who endured the flaying teeth
Whose soporific held pain at bay
Stone effigy hidden
Inside statues to pretenders
We crack the plaster
To reveal her majesty
For the Mother collects each woe
As liquor for her engine’s flame
To smite the calloused hand
And cut the bridle’s tethering
The body politic
Regains its personhood
Its snarl and cunning rage
And claws the eyes unbidden
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