This is the scrape.

Clocking in and clocking out

Hell bent and out of shape

Still the ends don't meet at all

And in the absence of virtues, our hands sold off by the hour, with faces black, still battered and bruised we sing

Bless me, bless me, I'm innocent

We all lean together

So keep one hand on your wage, or we just won't eat, these lungs of stone refrain

And I'm screaming, self-preservation

down into cold, cold earth

But still cracked and damaged we sing

Bless me, bless me, I'm innocent