[Intro] Plow to the ground, ground to the grave, grave to the lord, and the lord to the slave. [Verse 1] We reap, we bleed, but the bread won’t rise, sweat drips, lip splits, hunger replies. Grain to the lord, gain to the grave, slave to the tithe, no soul to save. Rust on the plow, rust on the prayer, trust turns to dust in the chapel air. Feast for the manor, famine below, echoes of debt in the dirt we sow. [Hook] No bread. No crown. No mercy in this town. Whisper. Mutter. Rise, revolt, then smother. Chains break, dreams fake, all hope drowned in the rake. Plow digs, grave gives, life takes, death lives. [Verse 2] Ale spills whispers, whispers ignite, shadows sow daggers in the cover of night. Pitchfork promises, patterns repeat, rise, rise, rise the revolt takes seat. Murmurs mutter, mutiny grows, breath after breath, the betrayal shows. “Burn what he built, break what he claims, his gold is our sweat, his wealth is our chains.” [Bridge] Steps in the dark, no bell, no song, hearts beat heavy, the night feels wrong. Sworn in ale, sworn in lies, sworn in the silence where rebellion dies. [Verse 3] March, march, march the mud resounds, pitchfork sparks as the gate comes down. Clash, crash, clash the steel replies, blood in the straw where the daylight dies. But the lord rides forth, riders in rows, iron on iron, the uprising froze. Crushed in the field, crushed in the vow, freedom sleeps silent beneath the plow. [Final Hook] No bread. No crown. The gallows rise, the village drowns. Whisper. Mutter. Rise, revolt… then silence smother. Chains break, dreams fake, but none escape the rake. Plow digs, grave gives, the lord takes / we die / he lives. [Outro] The fields are graves… the graves are ours. © 2025 - skvadMC
