Wake Up, Wage Slave!

Wake Up, Wage Slave!

Oh, weary worker, rise and see,
The chains that bind both you and me.
For once a man could toil and earn,
A wage that made the tables turn.

Henry Ford, that cunning knight,
Paid his men—a noble sight!
Five whole dollars every day,
With time to rest, with time to play.

This equals to Seventy-four ounces of gold, solid, pure,
A golden yearly wage—a future sure.
For even those with skill so small,
Could stand as men, stand proud and tall.

But now, oh now, what do you make?
Some paper scraps, a bitter fate.
Digits flicker, numbers lie,
Inflation steals while wages die.

A century passed, and yet we find,
The ones who toil are left behind.
Ford’s men earned more, can’t you see?
While you scrape by, so endlessly.

One hundred forty grand today,
Is what their wage (Seventy-four ounces) would truly pay.
Yet here you sit, just getting by,
As dollars melt before your eye.

So what’s the cause? The answer’s clear,
A broken system—built on fear.
A fiat world, a debt-bound game,
A rigged casino—who’s to blame?

But listen close, oh modern slave,
There is a path, there is a way.
Fix the money, break the chains,
Step outside the rigged domain.

Buy Bitcoin, claim what’s right,
Sound money brings the future bright.
For Ford’s men lived with wealth and pride,
Yet here you sit—your worth denied.

Wake up, wage slave, rise and see,
Your stolen time—now set it free!

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