The poor oppressed

In ancient times there lived a lord
Who ruled his lands with fist and sword;
This was a prince of fearsome mien
Hated and feared wherever seen.

He taxed his serfs and villeins too,
Freemen oppressed, and there were few
Escaped his fearsome evil ways,
The worst example of his days.

It chanced at last that some had had
Enough of him. He drove them mad.
Their bellies ached with hunger pains.
This Lord cares not. He just disdains

To think of what his actions cause
Or anything beyond his doors.
These few began to plot and plan
To get rid of this evil man.

Their plans sadly would come to nought
For spies of his the news had brought.
Skill to assassinate they lacked
So to his doors this bill he tacked.

"Reward of fifty crowns is paid
When these men in their graves are laid."
With such wealth offered they're betrayed
And all their dreams are thus gainsaid.

He took those men. Not looking back
He forced confessions on the rack.
Now haggard, battered, bloody, lean
They're never more from that day seen.

So that all men would them forget,
He cast them in his oubliette.
'Twas there they wasted, rotted, died
No history of them yet escried.

They never in their graves were laid
So no reward was ever paid.
By means so devious he proceeds
Throughout his life with evil deeds.

But many years would pass and then
Historians write about those men.
Their tale is told, their evil fate
Writ down - this sad tale I relate.

For such as this in ancient times
Was often told in bardic rhymes.
We think we live in happier days
Yet still oppression with us stays.

It's subtler now; from poorest men
They make large profits where they can.
The banks, the multinationals too,
And governments, to name a few;

They pay small wage to make large gain
Unheeding of the poorest's pain.
So goes the world forever on
Until the final day is done

And everything comes to an end.
Then long eternity we'll spend
Reflecting on the life that's gone
The good and bad we all have done!