Beneath the towering spires of gold,
Where fortunes rise and dreams are sold,
The silent whispers of the night,
Speak tales of struggle, hidden from sight.

In boardrooms high, decisions made,
The cost is lives, the price is paid,
By hands that toil from dawn till dusk,
Yet never see the golden dust.

The streets are lined with glittering dreams,
Yet shadows lurk, and silent screams,
Of those left out, their hopes betrayed,
In capitalism’s grand parade.

But in the hearts of those who strive,
A fire burns, a will to survive,
For change will come, as night turns day,
When justice finds its rightful way.