Graves for us all before Těšín.
At times some one sobs to the space
Above. His plea remains unfilled:
A foreign god laughs in his face.
And bluntly we gaze in a flock
How they place our heads upon the block,
As ox at slaughter of an ox.
And marquis Gero is so rich:
Give casks to us for seventy,
Give casks for thousands seventy.