Song of the Red Fields

Lenin Inspired and yes I dont support fascism communism or any form of crimes against humanity .

Power must not sit in palaces.

It must rise from the factory floor,

From the hands that build this nation.

But… who watches the watcher?

The hands do. They see the wood,

Feel the steel and suffer the gold.

They see day and night, in dim and bright,

And when there is none"

The hands are the one.

They shed the blood and take it as well,

They hold the cross and break it t’will,

They work in the heat and

In farms they till"

In the farms they till,

With red in the plough and gold in the grain,

With iron dust in every lung,

A crimson hymn on every tongue.

Through storm and stone, through every dread,

Forging in fire the path ahead.

Some in stone, some in gold,

Some in italics, some in bold"

Yet they all are the same,

The one, the only, with very name:

The builder of the red and the crimson watcher.

Never do the hands ensure they lie free.

They work and till and write and plea,

But breaking the chain is something far

Beyond their flesh and blood can reach and thwart.

It takes a key, a roaring axe,

To strike the chains and stubborn locks.

But trust me, comrade"

For once the chains are broken,

No hand can rebuild them,

No rust can fade them,

Yet no heart can forget them.

Alas! Where is the key to be found?

In the hell or in the ground?

Under the sky or above the sea?

Along the sand or by the trees?

Inside myself or inside thee?

No, said He"

Neither in hell nor in the ground,

Neither under the sky nor above the sea,

Nor about the sand nor near the sea,

Nor inside thyself, neither inside me.

It lies in the bond of blood and sweat

Of countless hands and countless feats.

It lies in the crimson red of brotherhood,

The hands that live together in foreverhood.

We marched beneath uncertain stars,

With borrowed maps and broken charts"

We spoke of dawn with ash-stained lips,

While night still lingered in our hearts.

Not every cry was free of fault,

Not every flame was light"

Yet still we walked, though unsure why,

And learned to hold less tight.

The key was never forged in wrath,

Though wrath had marked the bone"

It lay in fields we worked as one,

In seeds through ash we’d sown.

We shared our bread with shaking hands,

In peace that bloomed from wounded ground,

Where we stood scarred… yet one.

Author's Note

I once again dont support fascism communism or any crimson again humanity