Gerhart Hauptmann

The justice to us weavers dealtIs bloody, cruel, and hateful;Our life's one torture, long drawn out:For Lynch law we'd be grateful.

Stretched on the rack day after day,Heart sick and bodies aching,Our heavy sighs their witness bearTo spirit slowly breaking.

The Dreissigers true hangmen are,Servants no whit behind them;Masters and men with one accordSet on the poor to grind them.

You villains all, you brood of hell...You fiends in fashion human,A curse will fall on all like you,Who prey on man and woman.

The suppliant knows he asks in vain,Vain every word that's spoken."If not content, then go and starve—Our rules cannot be broken."

Then think of all our woe and want,O ye, who hear this ditty!Our struggle vain for daily breadHard hearts would move to pity.

But pity's what you've never known,—You'd take both skin and clothing,You cannibals, whose cruel deedsFill all good men with loathing.