Every year we send our tribunes
to knock upon the golden door
and take our just demands there with them –
place our claim, our case for more
The masters let them ask and close
their eyes and sigh that times are tough –
They can’t afford to share with those
who made their wealth; there’s not enough
And now we can but wonder why
it seems our leaders think we might
maintain our powder ever dry
and take these scraps without a fight
