High tides
Titanic strides through twisted metal
Red Roads brought low
Once more into the breach
Up rusted rungs you reach
Up blank stares you climb
Up, up through rime and ruin
Tiers OF concrete tears of undoing

Hostages all at gunpoint
They spun the wheel and hoped
That what they had was sellable
One’s labor must be sellable
The violence goes deeper
Violence indelible
No great men
Only the great many

I have a feeling
I have a feeling
That it’s falling apart at the seams
And that the people
And that the people in the gutters
Recognize their means
I hear the meaning
I hear the meaning of the whispers
Sprayed upon the doors
Now comes the hour
Now comes the hour that the needle
Will pierce the spoken-for

Fuelled with your labor
Built with your bones
There are no great men
Only the great many