We sleep, we dream, we draw
(castles in the sky, their marzipan walls)
above a wooden platform
also known as "the ground floor"
below us lies the basement
a second and forbidden home
we can walk on its ceiling
standing on the shoulders of beams,
like Gods, Emperors or even better
a whole Sweepers Brigade made of two.
Word of mouth says
there's a kingdom downstairs
with Royal gates, but not for all
(we know where)
There we were told to store
all the coal we needed
for the rest of the season
in a mountain where breath
has to be kept behind our teeth.
That's all the coal they actually need
because as for us
this occupation is hard labour
merely a treason played for a purpose
then we both say:
(whispering to each other, undercover)
Down With the Tyrants!
we will inherit what we might reign over
hereby the promise
that no other coal peak
will cast its black choking shadow
on our Free Basement Kingdom.