| Day by day
|
| Whistle while you work
|
| Our backs are breaking
|
| Up from hollow earth
|
| From end to end
|
| The noise begins
|
| In the human battle stations
|
| And the big one’s coming in
|
| Work, work, work, work
|
| Work 'til holes are filled
|
| Work, work, work, work
|
| Bags of bone and skin
|
| Lovers hold hands
|
| Tossing their heads
|
| Tangled in hair
|
| Tied to earth
|
| With skin and glue
|
| But their skin is the same as yours
|
| Coming in for the world to see
|
| They can sit at the table, too
|
| The same blood as you and me
|
| Speak very softly
|
| Hold my hand
|
| Someone is sleeping
|
| In my bed
|
| Priests pass by
|
| Worms crawl in
|
| One dreams to be
|
| One dream for all
|
| His skin is the same as yours
|
| Is he not made the same as you?
|
| And some have fallen down
|
| And blood spilled on the ground
|
| Work, work, work
|
| 'Til his life is done
|
| The old man
|
| Is at our door
|
| And he’s knocking
|
| Knocking
|
| As his neighbors weep
|
| Each day repeats
|
| Are we nothing in your eyes?
|
| Someone answer, someone answer
|
| This rusted garden gate
|
| Can barely even stand
|
| Their work is over now
|
| And rest will be at hand
|
| Is their skin not the same as yours?
|
| Can they sit at the table to drink cool water?
|
| Cool water
|
| And his lungs are filled with rain
|
| And the water’s rushing in |