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
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.