As I lead the world I want to change,
What kind of dignity should be required?
When the lost faces of workers and men with deep wounds stare up at me in the request for security,
What do I have to offer?
In terms of regulation, the only thing I am allowed to share are ideas, for my true purpose is locked away in some higher place.
Burnt skin, dark scabs, blistering knuckles- and I hold their salvation.
In the distance, I can foresee their fate,
But the question is, what do I have to lose?
On the platform in front of this large monument, I stand --
-- That is, until the clock strikes 12, and I must beg farewell.
This skepticism and nostalgia is all I had to offer,
Lest I fall into a lonesome soil-chamber,
And lay mine own eyes to rest.