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Stooped in the dark

Chained to your neighbour

Feeding from the master's trough

The very products of your labour

Squirm through the muck

And worship as taught

Sucking the tit of capitalists

Bereft of independent thought

But then the rays of light up high

Your face is raised towards the sky

Struggle to stand and straighten your back

Reaching for hope while all around you whips crack

Better to die on your feet, than live on your knees

proletariats clasping shoulders

Brothers and sisters forsaking their owners

Mass revolt as working class stretch

Shaking off years of wrongful debt

Better to die on your feet

Cut down while marching in the street

Better to die free

Than subjugated on your knees