The Truth.

December 18, 2019



    By Francis William Lauderdale Adams



     Come then, let us at least know what's the truth.
        Let us not blink our eyes and say
     We did not understand; old age or youth
        Benumbed our sense or stole our sight away.

     It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
        That wages are the worth of work.
     No; they are what the Employer wills to spare
        To let the Employee sheer starvation shirk.

     They're the life-pittance Competition leaves,
        The least for which brother'll slay brother.
     He who the fruits of this hell-strife receives,
        He is a thief, an assassin, and none other!

     It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
        That Rent's the interest on just gains.
     Rent's the thumb-screw that makes the worker share
        With him who worked not the produce of his pains.

     Rent's the wise tax the human tape-worm knows.
        The fat he takes; the life-lean leaves.
     The holy Landlord is, as we suppose,
        Just this - the model of assassin-thieves!

     What is the trick the rich-man, then, contrives?
        How play my lords their brilliant roles? -
     They live on the plunder of our toiling lives,
        The degradation of our bodies and souls!


 Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893)[1] was an Australian essayist, poet, dramatist, novelist and journalist.

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