Interlude

With every swing a sinking nail
The weather brow, a tradesman's tail
He toils away in a summer swelter
A toil he must to keep his shelter
His days are [?] at very best
And when he sleeps he gets no rest
Recounting steps each passing day
And knowing there's a better way
From miles from here
From inside their castles
The noble's wiff there riches cackle
But that's okay we'll hold our ground
One day thе Lord will strike them down