Jesper Ritzl Civilstatus:
There be a yoke that's to be borne
a crippling weight on shoulders torn
limp and poor, beneath its fate
Here be a wall, around us built.
keeping in, as it is keeping out.
Antler shovel, and ox bone hoe,
dig a ditch for us to die
whence we have run our course.
In heaps they throw the weak
and there be tears for me to weep
And I feel the hand of doom
burning with golden flame
calling out to those who have no name