| Between us and uncertainty the net hangs, large enough for all. It will not let another honest worker fall. Not ever again. You have your call, your place in the picture. You have your part--and if not, then you're just a bum at heart with your cardboard sign saying "all out of luck". We simply hurry past you, but do you hear the clicking of our shoes? The sound that safety makes. That is the sound of the future's machinations. Oh, you who live dime to dime. So many pockets, so little nerve. We broke our hands to pave the streets you sleep on. Oh, we're patient and we're thorough, and we're due to reap the fruit, and we'll end this hard life coddled in the roots of heaven's grove. So, you want what's in these pockets? You want what's in these pockets? Don't hold that breath, because there'll be no charity. Yes, we're the phalanxes of the dawn, lions without charity. We are the phalanxes. We are thankless. |