Migrate

I’ll find a new land, look up, head North,
away from the rich warm Southern borders
where men carefully listen to echoes from afore
or actually do bear the saddlebags of others;
or scourge their sinful heads and enjoy their acts,
or pile up hate for brothers counting fact after fact:
the inherited land, the inherited land
I’m leaving it behind, I’m leaving it behind!
Or did I get that land trapped beneath my hooves,
to carry around, around wherever I might move?

Lavaca mooed back at "Dalkarlasång" (1859) by Otto Lindblad.