From sunrise to sunset, I toil everyday,
They take away the wheat, I am left with the hay!
Once I took some hay to feed my cow,
They cut my wage, I wonder why and how!
You are a toiler, my father said to me,
Yes, I said, I will toil everyday, Wheat for them, hay for me!
I ask myself: Why are there a few who enjoy the harvest to the full,
And the many who bend their spines are left with only a handful?
At the day’s end, when I look upon the red sun,
My father says to me: Learn to be a toiler, my son,
And bury your ambition, if you have one!
Yes, I am toiler, and I want my rightful pay,
Do I give my sweat and blood only for hay?
I don’t mind bending my spine,
Besides hay, I want my honour and dime!
Who are they? A few pretending to be our gods and the only ones,
But how come our gods keep passing robes from fathers to sons?
Father, I have to go,
I just can’t take it any more!
I heard there is a town,
Where not only a toiler is held equal, but also a clown!
Mother, allow me to stay away from your bosom,
I know I will be alone,
May be life will have a chance to blossom!
Pack my bag with some old clothes, food and water,
The journey is long, and severe is the weather!
My friends, hold your tears till I return from the city of shine,
We will banish them with good food and wine!