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Graham May

Poem: 'Song of the Wage-Slaves'

    We grow in might and numbers as we mix from every clime,

    And march beneath our Standard scorning fear or blows of Time:

         Our cause is universal, and to burst Man's bonds we meet:

         The Workers' war for freedom can ne'er end in their defeat?

 

    We fill the world with riches by our work of mind and hands,

    Yet we are ground in bondage by the Lords of Wealth and Lands.

        Our pay is but a pittance: we're machines to grind out wealth

        To make the rich men richer while we're robbed of peace and health.

 

    Life's best gifts are denied us; from our wage-slave's hell we rise,

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