Poor

Working Class
In the forge and factory, with strong hands, the worker toils, day after day, without limit. His sweat and blood, the price of his existance.
No marble halls, no golden crown, but calloused hands and a raw tone. The working class, with their backs bent, builds the world, brick by brick, from their dreams.
For in their simplicity, their determination, lies the true nobility of humanity.
They are the heroes, the silent force that carries our society, day and night.