The drug of the peasant is that which makes them happy without any clear reason for them to be that way
Puts him into such a mood that he can swallow the muck and embrace the toil with a smile on his face
And when he runs out of that drug, he'll punch a hole in the wall and a hole in the wife
Becomes edgy and unproductive
The drug of the peasant keeps the labor force under control
Eliminates questions and the need for answers
Substitutes the need for something else
You'll find a good TV show, you'll find a god
You'll find you can make an opiate out of anything
And when they run out of that drug, they'll take to the streets with eyes wide open
No longer zombies, they'll demand to be treated as human beings
So they manufacture the drug of the peasant
And they use conformity as a sort of pusher
And they sell it as a sort of coping
The peasants were happy today- they worked the usual 8 to 12 hours then went home to dinner and a temporary escape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem