Torn Sleeves

Alas, my God, they do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously,

And I have worked here so long

Blighting in your company.

Torn sleeves were all my pay.

Hurting back was my plight.

Hard work was my daily toil

Underneath the factory light.

I have grown tired at their hand

And I’ve grown old all too soon.

I have been true all my life,

But I’m sixty-five tomorrow noon.

Torn sleeves were all my pay.

Hurting back was me plight.

Hard work was my daily toil

Underneath the factory light.

I saved no money from my pay.

My pension will not last a month.

My bills I know not how to pay,

Nor how I’ll buy my foodstuff.

Torn sleeves were all my pay.

Hurting back was me plight.

Hard work was my daily toil

Underneath the factory light.

I wished to work all my days

And not be put out to pasturing.

This retirement age is unfair.

Let me remain at my favorite thing.

Torn sleeves were all my pay.

Hurting back was me plight.

Hard work was my daily toil

Underneath the factory light.

Traditional folk tune