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We see it as triumph, we think of The time when they came To defeat and dispossess. The shadow of this early wrong Is cast on all who follow. We expect them to make amends And think that if the score were settled We could make a new start. Both try to measure injustice: Units of wrong to be traded. The baleful scales of history Tipping now this way, now that. This task is fruitless. We all conceal and proclaim: Here a siege or battle There a strike for freedom. As if right and wrong are decided By our ways of keeping score. |
