In a place where hollow men wait for money,

The poor tooth aches

And gangrene takes your soul.

Magnates buy and sell you

Heaven and hell,

Body and soul.


And Capital, in its blind, unrestrainable passion,

Its werewolf hunger for surplus value,

Relentlessly usurps our time for growth

Our creativity

Limits the breadth and extent of our lives,

As a greedy farmer,

Snatches produce from the soil

By robbing it of its fertility.


Skin covered with grey webs of dust

From coal heaved in the seam

To the electric tunes of factories

Where foreign dreams

Are forged at midnight,

While the internal cannibal

Feeds on its swallowed potential.