Workers Lament

Young workers go, the owners call an early day.

By hand, and brain, and blood, and sweat you toil to earn your pay.


In the factories, and mills, and shipyards, and mines,

you've been told to keep up with the times.


"We've streamlined the job, your skills are not needed."

Your children go hungry, their tears unheeded.


But when war skies darken, and they ask your nations worth,

who will be given a gun and asked to die for the land of their birth?


Only those who for centuries long past, for little more than bread,

have bled for their country and buried their dead.


You will be the first to stand and the first to fall,

doubt not that when the rewards are dealt out they will forget to call.


So fall not for the corporate lie wrapped in chocolate and honey,

the owners care naught for you, only their money.

The End

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