Reclined upon his tree-formed throne,
Amidst thin, horned, heartless servants,
The ugly lord, still, thinks alone,
Watching the rebels rail and rant.
His chair belonged to their fathers;
Long ago his power’s help was sought;
Obliged, he bound them with fetters
(For by the deal, their days he bought).
This forest (the people’s dwelling),
Thus was the apelike one’s domain;
Deeds and sights here and there smelling,
Are fruits of the shameless one’s chain.
‘Eat and drink,' his voice says to them.
‘Death is the end that I allow!’
In a voice excited and firm,
He mocks the gentle rebel’s vow.
His ugly smile adores evil,
Abominations, sin and dirt;
This is their god and a devil.
He wears lies as trousers and shirt.