What drives the hungry hopeless Who always stand the last in line? As these iron caverns welcome Another million of their dreams to die Not the money lender His pockets lined and fat belly full Who draws up his fiddle high To spin a tune as the city burns And they will watch it burn As they multiply The seeds are sown The flames grow high The tables turn What moves the toiling masses To push ahead into another day? To walk past their dying brothers To force themselves just to look away Not their guilty conscience who In token acts toss crumbs in shame Cause in their spineless hearts they know Their bread and water never change a thing Their bread and water never change a thing Their words as empty as their heads As they multiply The seeds are sown The flames grow high The tables turn And faced with a life in absentia They'll choose to burn their temples down, burn If there is any hope It lies with the prols If there is any hope It lies with the prols