We raise the flags and statues to our mission we've spoken out
|
in slogans and in campaigns
|
talked and talked on almost every issue
|
where oppression of the masses is the constant theme
|
but what does this mean to a little town in Iowa
|
where the jobs have gone downstream down south and out
|
where their fingers used to work to the bone all day
|
profits rise and fall and starvation is a game
|
where is the food that used to cover their table
|
where is the sense of pride at the end of the day
|
to the face of a thriving corporation what could a dying family
|
possibly say
|
on the face of every American worker
|
is the constant fear that their job won't remain
|
as the C.E.O. is planning his vacation
|
to kill or be killed is the nature of the beast
|
stand in line take a number you sell your soul
|
then watch it crumble
|
into a pile of rubble that used to be
|
your job
|
your life
|
your family's daily bread dry and stale malnourished kids
|
the house is sold for a degrading bid
|
do we continue to talk or do we take a hammer to their chains
|
|
-----------------
|
When Rhetoric Dies
|
Boy Sets Fire |