The Pyramids of Giza

Sludging, trudging, walk along,
Callused hands and faces long,
Backs that groan beneath the weight,
Hasten, Hasten, we won’t wait.

Whips that crack upon the flesh,
The rotten smell of warming death,
The sun beats down and sparks the sweat,
They repay ill-gotten debt.

The sand, the stone- they trudge alone,
Each one together yet on their own,
With nothing but skin’s colour here,
Slaves and masters- difference clear.

Children naught but skin and bone,
Work to hold up massive stone,
While elder people crash to the ground,
Finally some peace they’ve found.

You see it point towards the sky,
Flash your cameras; laugh and cry,
Yet you forget who put it there,
The pain that people had to bear.

A wonder of the ancient world,
The brilliance of the man unfurled,
A bleeding mess of molten bone,
This is one building millions own.

Whips that crack upon the flesh,
The rotten smell of warming death,
Sludging, trudging, walk along,
Callused hands and faces long.