Carry out your dead,
Exhausted old men
Tired from toiling without triumph
Ashes to ashes
Fingers to the bone
The working man
Always dies alone
Ring your living bell
A life with iron jaws
Or a heart with churning gears
Ashes to ashes
Fingers to the bone
Only the working man
Dies alone
Blow the steam whistle
In time to see the red sun
Falling behind the smokestacks
Ashes to ashes
Fingers to the bones
At the end of the day
We all die alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good imagery.