Verse
Well, the whistle blows at dawn, another day begun,
Got dirt in my fingers, sweat in my lungs,
Factory’s hummin’, man it never sleeps,
While we’re all down here, livin’ six feet deep.
They say, “Keep on grindin’, the dream’s in reach,”
But it feels more like a prison than a freedom speech.

Chorus
Poverty’s just an industrial disease,
They keep us all sweatin’, workin’ to please,
Slavin’ away for a twisted dream,
Of a capitalist utopia, or so it seems.
Hope’s a ghost in the machine,
Nightmares haunt me in the workin’ week routine.

Verse
Forty hours ain’t enough to scrape by,
Worn out boots and an empty sky,
Chasin’ a promise that’s never been true,
Sellin’ my soul, but what can I do?
They sell salvation with a price on the door,
But I can’t even afford to be poor.

Chorus
Poverty’s just an industrial disease,
They keep us all sweatin’, beggin’ them please,
For a taste of that dream that ain’t ever free,
Just another cog in their fantasy.
Hope’s a lie that they dangle in front,
But nightmares creep in every time I punch.

Bridge
Man on the corner, he’s preachin’ the end,
Says it ain’t gonna get better, just pretend.
I dream of escape but wake to the grind,
And that capitalist utopia? It’s a trick of the mind.
The bosses wear suits, but they got no heart,
While we’re down in the gutter, fallin’ apart.

Chorus
Poverty’s just an industrial disease,
They keep us all sweatin’, workin’ for a sleaze,
Slavin’ away for a twisted dream,
Of a capitalist utopia, a broken scheme.
Hope’s a whisper lost in the breeze,
And my nightmares grow with each week of forty degrees.

Outro
So serve me my regret, then pour me a shot,
‘Cause this life ain’t the freedom we thought we’d got.
I’ll wake up tomorrow, still chained to the wheel,
In this nightmare of workin’, where dreams ain’t real.