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Petite Romance

de Adolf von Henselt

Who do you think you work for, your family or the banks?
The ones who take forty years with nothing but a thanks.
The ones who owned your parents are the ones who'll own your kids
The ones who offer the right to work, but no right to live.
We can see them in the windows that overlook the floors
Laughing on the telephone while we perform their chores
We never see their faces, but their names are on our checks.
Their parasitic purse strings are a noose around our necks.

They're terminators, they can take your life from you
They're terminators, they can put an end to you.

We ask about their families, we laugh at their stupid jokes,
It's better to be on their good side to borrow when you're broke.
They're the ones who sign our paycheck and the ones who own our homes.
The ones that we go begging to when looking for a loan.
They feed upon our miseries and toss a couple crumbs,
And praise their own benevolence for helping out the scum.
If you dare to raise your voice, they'll shove you off the lot,
And send you slumping home to our cities full of rot.

They're terminators, they can take your life from you
They're terminators, they can put an end to you.

They flash a slimy smile while promising a change,
They're rich, lazy vampires sucking blood from our veins.
And they make all the profit from our work and from our sweat,
And we accept their wages, because that's all we'll ever get.
We've buried our fathers with the pennies they saved.
Is this our future from our cradles to our graves?
They never give us a chance, and I guess they never will.
Fifty years later will terminators own us still?

They're terminators, they can take your life from you
They're terminators, they can put an end to you.

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