They told us to rise, to climb, to grind,
To pull up our bootstraps, leave others behind.
But the straps are frayed, the boots are thin,
And the climb? It’s steep, with no way in.
Work 40, no, make that 60 a week,
Chase the dream they dare not speak.
Barely scraping by, month to month,
While CEOs toast on corporate fronts.
“Save for the future,” they chant and preach,
But the future feels so out of reach.
Retire at seventy, if your heart still beats,
Spend your coin on pills, not on Parisian streets.
What then of joy? Of time well spent?
Of laughter, rest, of lives unbent?
Are we to wait ’til the dusk of our days
To catch the sun’s last, faintest rays?
And must we walk this path alone,
Each back a world, each shoulder stone?
No village left, no hands held tight,
Just solo soldiers in a silent fight.
But what if we chose a different song,
One where the weak were not just “wrong”?
What if we shared both bread and load,
And built a broader, fairer road?
Policies shaped not for the few,
But for the many, me and you.
Where health, and time, and joy were rights,
Not prizes earned through sleepless nights.
Enough of “me” in silent fight—
Let’s turn our faces toward the light.
When we rise up, not just a few,
We build a world that’s bright and true.
