By Martin Bell.They have given us into the hand of new unhappy lords,
Lords without anger or honour, who dare not carry their swords.
They fight by shuffling papers; they have bright dead alien eyes;
They look at our labour and laughter as a tired man looks at flies.
We hear men speaking for us of new laws strong and sweet,
Yet is there no man speaketh as we speak in the street?
Smile at us, pay us, pass us, but do not quite forget:
For we are the people of England; and we have not spoken yet.
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