Beneath the city’s towering steel and glass,
The silent symphony of labor plays.
With every step, each task they amass,
In the quiet hum of endless days.

The workers’ hands are worn but strong,
Building dreams with sweat and skill.
Their silent song, a ceaseless throng,
Echoes through the night so still.

In offices and fields alike they toil,
Each one a note in the grand refrain.
Through sun and rain, through strife and spoil,
They chase the dawn, embrace the pain.

For in their hearts, a fire burns bright,
A hope that fuels each weary stride.
They forge ahead, through darkest night,
With dreams that never can subside.