We live between the walls- not quite like mice-
don't run or shit where we might catch their eye.
We don't fight back, except for once or twice.
We'd had enough. And then we bled them dry
our so-called betters. They live in the rooms
are comfortably off, they like to say.
One day we'll break and desecrate their tombs
And show them putrid to the light of day.
When not ignoring us, they curl their lip.
We've won some few rights- some of them remain.
There was a time when they used sword and whip
some of them hope to have that power again.
They starve us, scorn us. Stand up with dry eyes!
We won't get angry - rather organize