https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVtq77jM8XQNo lord in the heavens made this world,
No worldly lord the prosperity of humankind.
The cosmos is an eternal evolution of the material,
This material shaped for mankind's use by many a laborer.
The work of your hands, laborer, was mankind's yesterday.
On your hands also rests tomorrow.
When the temple of Solomon was being built by an army of laboring
Slaves, meanwhile Solomon was inside
His palace, solving the quarrels of wives.
When the nobleman in France was cursing his failed expedition to
The Russian land, thousands of wives wept for their fallen husbands.
The work of your hands, laborer,
Were the treasures of the lords,
But inside your fist now grows a different kind of tomorrow.
Your hands built the factories and the mines of the land.
Where from dawn to dusk you labor on,
Watch the treasures get carried away.
But if your hands stops laboring, the chimneys go cold,
The machines standing as idle as those who you labor for.
The work of your hands, laborer,
Are the treasures of the lords,
And only your hands can act to bring forth justice.
But for the exploiter,
You alone are not enough, for he will always be hunting on.
And if he meets resistance, he'll point his guns at your brothers.
And when you rise against injustice,
You'll quickly find out,
The exploiter is not just a leech but also a murderer.
Your hands once build the tombs of the Pharaohs.
Yet to be dug is the grave for the exploiters of this entire world.
Inside your fist lies a seed to your freedom eternal.
And it'll once grow into a forest that covers out all injustices.