Shackles on the poor
Hands tied by shadows
That come out of the wind
And takes them to the gallows

Shackles on the poor
Sealed up by man’s law
Miracles stand hopeless by
The tips of fingers sore

Shackles on the poor
Who are crying out for peace
Who hoped that their vegetable patch
Would become a golden fleece

Shackles on the poor
As Christ is taken away
The silver rain begins to fall
On another empty day