Pounded by pangs of poverty,
Haunted by humes of hunger,
They left their humble huts by the hill,
Lured by the avaricious agents of the Devil,
Forced to cut down the legs of Nature,
They laboured for long heavy bours,
Cutting down and carrying Redwood
In the fateful forests of Lord Govinda.
Hounded and hunted down by
Pernicious, power drunk Policemen,
They fell to the brutal bullets
From the rifles of uniformed ruffians.
Their souls will not rest in heaven
Till the earth becomes
A safe and secured haven
Till the earth, for the miserable poor
Becomes a safe haven.