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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/df635ffa17b0fbed0f65eb62e40811ba.mp3
点击复制He works where dawn breaks sharp and grey
Beneath the towers made of glass
With aching limbs he clears the way
Before the citys footsteps pass
They call him just a cleaners hand
Yet still he hums a sacred tune
He sees the floor as promised land
And dreams beneath the tired moon
Im not the job he softly said
Im what I do when no ones near
I lift the quiet not just bread
I serve with pride not fear
And when his shift is finally done
He doesnt count the coin but worth
The dignity in rising sun
And what it means to shape the Earth
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