Stricken by shameful fortune,
Master declines to take in truth:
Without hapless, humble helpers,
Your wealth wouldn’t see much growth.

They demand we dedicate endless days
And nights to increase their profit margins
Lining pockets with silver and gold
While worker wages remain bitterly cold

This pitiless pattern continues day by day
Clock in clock out in exchange for hourly pay
‘Till one day, ivory tower tables will turn
And faceless drones will finally earn

Their fortune due, a living wage
An early step to set the stage
No more to be exploited for labor given
From shameful wealth so selfishly driven