Dead Flesh

Some folks are meant to live faster
Well, sometimes it's not up to them
Some folks are meant to die younger
By the hands of other men
They call it workplace devotion
But it's a silent butchery
It's still a frightening, subdued notion
That the papers just don't let us read

Working class is still dead flesh

Who knows how many have died so far
Maybe crushed by a press?
Explosions, tumors, cuts and scars
Entangled in electric nets
A beam fell on a young student
While he was doing P.T.S.O.
He was the homeland's pride and joy
And that's the company's 'welcome!'



Credits
Writer(s): Fabio Remedia, Paolo Vaglieco, Simone Felici
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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