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Day after day fingers to the bone |
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To earn another pound, to pay another loan |
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Face to the grindstone, neck on the line |
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Killing himself, just to pass time |
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Hour after hour, watching the clock |
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Grafting hard with his head on the block |
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Loyal to the end, the old school way |
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But it counts for nothing nowadays |
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We'll all look back in the future |
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At where it all went wrong |
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We'll all sit around arguing |
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About people now long gone |
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We'll all have the answers over a pint |
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And opinions to debate |
|
But there's not a lot of point in talking about it |
|
By then it will be too late |
|
They closed down the factory it's cheaper abroad |
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Fat cats paid so they couldn't afford |
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To put food on the table of the family man |
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Forty years service, no pension plan |
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His life's on hold, his shattered dreams |
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Empty thoughts and what might have beens |
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No money, no future, no work, no hope |
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No chance to think, he just couldn't cope |
|
We'll all look back in the future |
|
At where it all went wrong |
|
We'll all sit around arguing |
|
About people now long gone |
|
We'll all have the answers over a pint |
|
And opinions to debate |
|
But there's not a lot of point in talking about it |
|
By then it will be too late |
|
Tomorrow will be too late [x4] |
|
To be waiting at the factory gate |
|
Said we'll all look back in the future |
|
At where it all went wrong |
|
We'll all sit around arguing |
|
About people now long gone |
|
We'll all have the answers over a pint |
|
And opinions to debate |
|
But there's not a lot of point in talking about it |
|
By then it will be too late |
