How low do you go
Before you hit the bottom Rock?
Are you pressed? Are you pushed?
To the bottom from the top?

Only man can conceive  
that which God could not.
Causing need and feeding greed
As the world is growing hot.

We will face the death of man
And we will tend our salted lot
While money turns to cloth,
Turns to paper, turns to rot.

They steal the food upon our plates
And kick our shins under the table.
We should be taking what we're owed;
We are many, and we are able.

Take note the men who sleep
Behind the doors with extra locks,
'Cause when we come...
and we will come...

There won't be time to stop for knocks.