A short history of the world (1994)

The fingers of the poor are broken in the fields of the rich.

The life that is ended is rolled in the ditch. 

Men who sit as kings have slaves to do the work

And in the shadows of their palaces their green-eyed toadies lurk.

The backs of the poor are broken in the factories of the rich.
The life that is ended is still rolled in the ditch.

Men who are directors give two crowns for the work

And to record all stoppages comes the obsequious clerk.

The bodies of the poor are burnt in the fires of the rich.

There is now a factory where once there was a ditch. 

The clerk is paid by policemen and has servants of his own,

To each of whom he rents a room in his mortgaged home.

The poor are no longer visible; you cannot see the rich,

There is nothing to remind us of the long-forgotten ditch,

The children of the clerk have spread across the world

And damn us for ingratitude as their flag's unfurled.