Tragic Heroin

High tides, titanic strides
Through twisted metal
Red Roads, brought low
Once more into the breach
Up rusted rungs you reach
Up blank stares you climb
Up, up through rime and ruin
Tiers of concrete tears of undoing

Hostages all, at gunpoint
They spun the wheel and hoped
That what they had was sellable
One's labour must be sellable
The violence goes deeper
Violence indelible
No great men
Only the great many

I have a feeling
I have a feeling that it's falling apart at the seams
And that the people
And that the people in the gutters recognise their means
I hear the meaning
I hear the meaning of the whispers sprayed upon the doors
Now comes the hour
Now comes the hour that the needle will pierce the spoken-for

Fuelled with your labour
Built with your bones
There are no great men
Only the great many