| All the way at the bottom of the barrels, we cry out
|
| So ashamed of our tears that we blame only ourselves
|
| That’s when they win, they keep us convinced
|
| To lift up our chins, these playing fields are level
|
| «We all have a chance», with that they dismiss
|
| The fast lanes they rode
|
| On which access depends on who you know
|
| Or where you came from
|
| Whose daughter are you? |
| Whose fortunate son?
|
| We’re told to stick out our thumbs
|
| They feast from the linens while we settle for crumbs
|
| Is this an over-reaching arm?
|
| Or is this compassion?
|
| Is this a handout undeserved
|
| Or a just reparation?
|
| (A just reparation)
|
| All the way from the towers, high above glass ceiling tombs
|
| Tell themselves that they’ve earned this
|
| By working hard and playing by the rules
|
| But this is only part-true
|
| A dangerous trick played on me and you
|
| And so, like a practical joke
|
| We’ve pulled on these bootstraps so hard that they broke
|
| Is this an over-reaching arm?
|
| Or is this compassion?
|
| Is this a handout undeserved
|
| Or a just reparation?
|
| And like a single domino
|
| That falls while the rest stay vertical
|
| We’re fed these empty fairytales
|
| But will you believe them
|
| And if there’s a god, you better pray
|
| That this sleeping giant never wakes
|
| But if we just took a step back
|
| A bigger picture we might view
|
| Perhaps a man in the gutter
|
| Is not so different from you
|
| Come in, out of the cold
|
| Forget all that you know
|
| Because there’s always been room by the fire for you
|
| Oh, come in out of the cold
|
| Will you believe them?
|
| Is this an over-reaching arm?
|
| Or is this compassion?
|
| Is this a handout undeserved
|
| Or a just reparation?
|
| And like a single domino
|
| That falls while the rest stay vertical
|
| We’re fed these empty fairytales
|
| And I’m through believing |