Workers

Steaming brick on steaming brick
The work is long and without help
For us who build our houses in
The sobbing depths of hell

I’ll take the crown of indignity
In place of promised gold
I’ll have slander as my feed
And swallow each blow as it’s told

Don’t be so wretched, please!
Give this all your best
And don’t deny your seat
As misfortune’s honoured guest

With me stands a thousand fiends
Each holding their own pocket knife
They wait, hushing each other as I speak
Ready to plunge into my side

Tonight, once again, I’ll lay
Within these boiling rooms
At each corner an ambush awaits
As my relentless passion blooms

An impulse has made me its victim
Pouring intrigue into the hearts of all
Its laid my brain out wide open
For this religious night of song

I seethe underneath the fan
Impatient for the task i’m sent to do:
To plunge into the origin of man
And re-emerge with the new

I imagine someone at my side
With me carrying this cross—
We happily toil, with a certain pride
Indifferent to the taunts