Thirst forever consumes their parched lips
That pray silently for deliverance from this hell
Alone in chains linking thousands
Miles they cross every day with only a desolate destination

For them, for us all we call this life
An endless march towards nowhere
Walking, retreating into deathly days nearer the abyss
The shackled march on, aimless, endless

Breathing out that which sustains them
The fog engulfs their sight that they cannot see
But for the blinding darkness that encompass all
Around them the landscape turns to ashes
And their sore, downtrodden feet unto dust

Lift up your heads, my weary children
See all the footprints behind you in the dust
Relinquish the promise of the freedom of escape
Give up the future for the long march ahead

Eyes locked forward, fixed like the barrel of a gun
You must not look upwards into the blinding sun
For the you would be useless to the greater cause that lies ahead
Without feet, without sight, to them you’d be better off dead

My weary ones
When it feels like the journey will never end
You gotta hold your head high
And keep pushing on
Again

March forward to the beating of the sun
Feet blistered red by the roughshod road
Tortured by master less than nature
Whose harsh path you forever follow