There's a house on the hill, a seven bedroom residence
Unoccupied three-sixty-four
Just a holiday home, a peacocking of decadence
Barely remembered anymore
Well dressed and clean shaven, inflated salary
An offshore tax haven, prosperity
There's a man on the street, with seven pennies in his cup
Sleeping outside three-sixty-five
He's committing a crime, just so he could be locked up
To eat a meal, be warm and dry
Jobless, emaciated, cycle of poverty
Homeless, uneducated, inequity
The blood, the sweat, the tears from our eyes
The years of our lives, the cost of living
Our wants, our thoughts, our cares set aside
No room for our pride, unforgiving
There are people in charge, behind the door of number ten
Ignoring all the malcontent
Shaping rules for themselves, decide what we can have and when
No ability to represent
Democracy dictating, prioritise the one percent
Self congratulating, our government
The blood, the sweat, the tears from our eyes
The years of our lives, the cost of living
Our wants, our thoughts, our cares set aside
No room for our pride, unforgiven
Protesters fill the streets, cries for equality
Twisted by the media, replaced with a fallacy
Safe in their ivory towers, high above the battlefield
Puppeteers turn their deaf ears, to petrol bombs and riot shields
Society suffers wounds that never heal
Corruption drawing blood to fund their every deal
How much more will we take
They're given more than we can make
The blue of blood, the silver spoons with all the green
It's time we said no more
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