The Dead Migrant Workers

They built every City, Village, Town and Motorway And for them there never was an easy pay And though all is quiet in the places they lay Their descendants the Nation builders of today. Some of them lived on for to die old and gray Those hard working migrants from Lands far away Though in their honour one does not see a parade And little of their contribution to society is made. They built the railways and car parks of the town The people who never did yearn for renown Their names never engraved on a memorial wall And their deeds we don't see as worthy of recall. We honour the soldier the royal and the sporting great And the celebrity and politician we do celebrate But the dead migrant worker is one without fame And his like all of his kind is a forgotten name.