Children in sweatshops will work til the dawn, then work in the hot sun until it is gone
Do they cry, "There's got to be more to my life than this?"
Do they know that a better life exists?
With the fruits of their labor so quickly devoured
By those who feel they should not be empowered
Another day begins without rest
Another day I sit back, reaping the benefits
Working for Wal-Mart at three cents of pay
Spending it all to survive the next day
Of work for a country they can't even spell
Their way of life is our vision of
Hell on earth that they live on but do not own in mounds of clay they call their homes
If they decided to break the trend our opulence would come to an end
Even though I can't see the deadline close
My eyes are my hands and the needle is my ghost
Just another host weighing down time
Me in the shoes not a better man crossing the line
Throw another toy by the pile of death
Don't know what I'm thinking, can't take another breath
Even though I can't see I close my eyes
And look into myself
This world is just a lie
Working for a country name unknown
The fields of my life are left unsown
Over seas
Over hills
Over overcast skies
These people can't see through America's disguise