Underpaid Scars
de Rude Pride
Sounds the alarm on the clock
It's still dark night outside
Begins a new day of work
The streets are flooded
With sadness when the workers
Walk with their heads down
The factory opens it's doors
And encloses our freedom
But we haven't lost hope
The bus stops are filled
With rows of angry slaves
Going to their temporary jail
We are not to blame
For being lower class
We are not to blame
For having broken hands
Underpaid scars!
Today I heard another
Worker lost his life
At the factory next door
I could not help thinking
As I clenched my fists in anger
Of the family he left behind
He died to feed his kids
He died to feed his dreams
He died for a place to live
He died murdered
Murdered in front of you
Murdered in front of me
We are not to blame
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