We are sick of promises - we can manage without you. The shipyard workers speak up again - the rulers' fate is sad. No use talking or crying - your power is over. Our Demands There was enormous increase in poem-writing during the strike. This is one of those poems, and that is all we know about its background.
Pests change, names change.
We're sick of promises when the plate is empty all the time. Not only Gdansk and Radom, not only Lublin, Warsaw, but all Poland has had enough of lawlessness. Enough of repression, of false promises. We want bread for our work. And a true government.