Azdak sings an old propaganda jam at his tral. The policeman backs him up. The Ironshirts try to take him seriously. But its hard.
lyrics
Why dont our sons bleed any longer?
Why dont our daughters cry anymore?
The only ones who weep are the willows.
The only blood is on the slaughterhouse floor.
The Grand King must pass a brand new rule.
The poor must give it all.
If we are to sit on the top of the world,
The cottage roofs must fall.
Our men are scattered in every direction
So that the great may eat at home.
And while the soldiers kill each other,
The marshals salute and say, hello!
The widows tax money must be ours.
The swords must break.
The battle has been lost,
But the helmets have been paid for.
Is that right? Is that right?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, thats right.
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