My wretched fate.
Of my parents, my son and grandson.
My land is not my land,
I am parted from my own.

To everyone I am a stranger,
And not even kin to myself.
Spineless as I am —
That is why I am poor.

The Synod decides for me,
A pack of the sick who would rule.
Am I not a people?
Enough of hiding in holes!