Feed the line slow
Let the bodies pass
Small warm hands
Turn into working glass
No bell answers
No mother's call
The mill hums low
And it swallows all
They clock the breath
Then price the bone
A pale light burns
Where the tired ones go
Every bent back
Keeps moving still
Every kind face
Gets fed to the mill
Hold the line down
Line down
Down where the soft hands
Wear into stone
Hold the line down
Line down
They do not break
They carry it home
No hymn above them
No silver wage
Only the wheel
And the weight of age
Their hands turn once
Then turn again
Caught in the bodywork
Beneath its command
Hold the line down
Line down
Down where the soft hands
Wear into stone
Hold the line down
Line down
They do not break
They carry it home
Work
Breathe
Work
Bleed
Work
Bend
Work
Be
Under the iron
A hand finds a hand
Under the noise
One pulse still stands
Every small kindness
Keeps one door wide
So the lost can walk
With a name inside
Hold the line down
Line down
Down where the soft hands
Wear into stone
Hold the line down
Line down
They do not break
They carry us home
Feed the line slow
Let the bodies pass
Small warm hands
Turn into working glass