In the cold hard days of winter, hours long, and the sun no more does shine,
Workers resolved to fight for fair pay and fairness, still walk the picket line.
The silent voice is roaring, stoney faced their bosses speed by,
Their colleagues, crossing the picket line, cannot look the strikers in the eye.
The loud mouths who shouted non nationals reduce the working wage,
They are the scabs that break the picket line, like actors too shy to step the stage.
The loud fools who speak ill of colleagues and the company, who find fault with all,
Stood not with those who for progress walk the line, empty buckets them we call.
Empty buckets create the most noise, and have nothing to offer within,
The silent voice of the strikers roars above their meddling din.
So, as mornings cold you rush to work, and everything for you is fine,
Show your support anyway you can, for those who walk the picket line!