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