Stooped in the dark
Chained to your neighbour
Feeding from the master's trough
The very products of your labour

Squirm through the muck
And worship as taught
Sucking the tit of capitalists
Bereft of independent thought

But then the rays of light up high
Your face is raised towards the sky
Struggle to stand and straighten your back
Reaching for hope while all around you whips crack

Better to die on your feet, than live on your knees

Proletariats clasping shoulders
Brothers and sisters forsaking their owners
Mass revolt as working class stretch
Shaking off years of wrongful debt
Better to die on your feet
Cut down while marching in the street
Better to die free
Than subjugated on your knees