Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/23

  You are like rattlesnake or vermin red with lust. You are a mad-dog hot for blood that bites because it must; A thing to spit upon and curse and stamp into the dust.

For your syphilitic sons would keep the Future Race in chains; Grow fat in lustful luxury from hired hands and brains, And drench the earth, as you have done, for greater, richer gains!

But we've declared a War on you—decreed that you must fall! Do you demand that WE make some portion large or small? You have no valid right or claim to ANY share at all!

War rages now beneath your walls—around your marble towers Where you enjoy the bloody feast mid wine and song and flowers; And soon we'll make your life and bread as safe as you made ours.

WE made the mills, WE dug the mines, WE laid the shining rails, We filled those golden coffers full, we spread your Argo sails; And now we sweep you from the earth with force that never fails.

For it is OURS and ONLY ours, this world is ours alone. OURS are the hands that dug and reaped those riches heaven thrown. We plant the Red Flag on it ALL and claim it as our own. 