A Pict Song - Rudyard Kipling

    Rome never looks where she treads
    Always her heavy hooves fall
    On our stomachs our hearts and our heads
    And Rome never hears when we bawl
    Her sentries pass on -- that is all
    And we gather behind them in hordes
    And plot to reconquer the Wall
    With only our tongues for our swords

    For we are the little folk -- we!
    Too little to love or to hate
    Leave us alone and you'll see
    How we can bring down the state

    Mistletoe killing an oak
    Rats gnawing cables in two
    Moths making holes in a cloak
    How they must love what they do!
    Yes -- and we little folk too
    We are as busy as they
    Working our words out of view
    Watch, and you'll see it someday

    No indeed! We are not strong
    But we know of Peoples that are
    Yes and we'll guide them along
    To smash and destroy you in war
    We shall be slaves just the same?
    Yes, we have always been slaves
    But you -- you will die of the shame
    And then we shall dance on your graves!

    We are the worm in the wood!
    We are the rot at the root!
    We are the taint in the blood!
    We are the thorn in the foot!


    Marco Giunco
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