Men of the Picts
Words by : Rudyard Kipling
Tune by : Leslie Fish
Rome never heeds where she treads.
Always the heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts and our heads.
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
We are the little folk, we.
Too little to love or to hate.
But leave us alone and you'll see
Just how we can drag down the State.
The 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.
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!
Mistletoe choking 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 works out of view.
But watch, and you'll see them someday.
No, indeed we are not strong.
But we know people who are!
And we, we will guide them along
To crush and destroy you in war.
Yes, we have always been slaves,
And, yes, we will still be their slaves.
But you, you will die of the shame.
And then we will dance on your graves.