Had a job that paid eight dollars an hour
In a dark room filled with shiny things
They cut lights, saving power
Me and a hundred men that didn't speak
Blade over flint on a conveyor
Two in a minute pointed and clean
Polishing metal to a sharp edge
For cutting and slicing meat
Sharpening knives sharpening knives
That's what I did with my life
Sharpening knives sharpening knives
That's how I survived
There's a rhythm louder and faster
There's a rhythm that cuts your head
Sound of two hundred hands desperate
Heat and sparks like creation itself
Drunk on the sound, the pounding of metal
Intoxicating slavery
Like a love that stays on too long
Something cut out the heart of me
I woke one morning unable to move
I woke one morning unable to speak
Sounds had filled me with fear
Standing up made me weak
I haven't worked since then
I rely on my wits and the generosity of women
Sometimes I wonder what I've done with myself
Other times I'm glad I survived