He's passed out for the night

Lived in one house all his life

You can count the decades in his eyes

Fifty year old fistfights and the scars they leave

All the awful liars, all the perfect thieves

But he trusts in the rule of law and hates the current scapegoats

Never asked for more

And what will he have to show for the years of faithful service

Hard work and faithful service, hard work and faithful service

And standardized— and the standardized routines

And when he dies alone with nothing in hand

Burned out shell of a working man

He dies alone with empty hands

Burned out shell of a working man

Used up shell of a working man

He dies alone with empty hands

How long will the body lie?

Before someone walking by notices the smell

Calls cops and they come to put him in a box

And mark it with a number

Somewhere past the city limits somebody pulls his file

Stamps it void and throws it on a pile

We take care of our own, at least on paper

We take care of our own

And who gets his number?

We take care of our own

At least on paper

When he dies alone with nothing in hand

Burned out shell of a working man

He dies alone with empty hands

Burned out shell of a working man

Used up shell of a working man

He dies alone with empty hands

How long will the body lie?

Before someone walking by notices the smell

And calls cops who come to put him in a box

And mark it with a number

Who gets his number?