scarecrows of the starve

The vicious poor law squeezed our people
Promised servitude
In the arms of the Iron Industry
Or a mine of coal to hew

The poor they rob the poorer
The starving steal from the hungry
While the owners eat off golden plates
No thought or care or worry

A winch or furnace or a cage
Add new names to death statistics
While we all live ten to a room
With Cholera, fleas and rickets

I sleep by day exhausted
On the mattress that never grows cold
‘coz when I’m down the pit at night
This bed holds some other poor souls