Rebellion Is The Descendant Of Harsh Hands

Our shoulders are drooping
They are heavily laden
With numerous harsh laws
The rulers had imposed.

We are treated with iron fists
Reduced to mere machines
The rulers forgot
That we have hearts
Where we hide
The pains we feel inside.

They put us under the silkiness
Of their palms
Yet, their fingers
Act like giant claws
That strangle
And get our nods of agreement
On the laws they love to implement.

The pent-up anger
And toils of suffering
Are indeed overflowing
It turned into a fireball
Ready to hit and roll.