Who was building your house when you came to book?
Who grows the food that in your kitchen you cook?
Who lays the roads on which you drive?
Who mops the floor when you spill your kive?
Who sweeps the streets when you are asleep?
Who scavenges the sewers bleak?
Have you ever spared a thought for them?
Who have mined all the precious gem
What food they eat, what water they drink?
Those who have patched all your chink
Call them if you would a drudge
Won’t survive if they hold a grudge
Toil hard they day and night
As if holding on to a straw in a storm with all their might
Highbrows turning a blind eye to their plight
Their companions being Hunger, Adversity and Death
They have been wronged yet still have faith
Every affliction they have to fend
Oh Providence, please make it end.
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