torsdag 16 september 2010

Sextonde september - dag fyrtiosex, del 2

När det blir kväll och mörkt och löven virvlar i höstrusket utanför fönstret. Då är det tur man vet att man har irländarna med sig på sin sida.

I'm an ordinary man, nothin' special nothin' grand,
I've had to work for everything I own.
Well I never asked for a lot, I was happy with what I got,
enough to keep my family and my home.
Now they say that times are hard & they've handed me my cards,
they say there's not the work to go aroun.
When the whistle blows the gates will finally close,
tonight they're going to shut this factory down.
Then they'll tear it down.

I never missed a day, nor went on strike for better pay,
for 20 years I served them best I could.
With a handshake and a cheque it seems so easy to forget,
loyalty through the bad times and the good.
The owner says he's sad to see that things have got so bad,
but the Captains of industry won't let him loose.
He still drives a car and smokes a cigar,
And still he takes his family on a cruise.
He'll never lose.

Now it seems to me to be such a cruel irony,
he's richer now ever he was before.
Now my cheque is all spent and I can't afford the rent,
there's one law for the rich, one for the poor.
Every day I've tried to salvage some of my pride,
to find some work so's I might pay my way.
But everywhere I go, the answer is always no,
there's no work for anyone here today.
No work today.

And so condemned I stand, just an ordinary man,
like thousands beside me in the queue.
I watch my darlin' wife tryin' to make the best of life,
God knows what the kids are goin' to do.
Now that we are faced with this human waste,
a generation cast aside.
For as long as I live, I never will forgive,
you've stripped me of my dignity & pride,
You've stripped me bare.



-Over & out.

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