Salt In The Wound

I keep my head low, doing my best,
but every time I rise, they put me to rest.
Tried all my life, just to make a stand,
but every time I reach, they slap my hand.
 
You push and you fight, you dig in the dirt,
but the more you struggle, the deeper the hurt.
Shot down again, no matter the try,
with every fall, a piece of me dies.
 
I work with my hands, break my back for the cause,  
they tear me apart with no reason, no laws.
Like salt in the wound, it burns through my soul,
taking what's left, never leaving me whole.
 
Each step I take feels heavier still,
the weight of their judgement, the weight of their will.
I'm not looking for pity, just a break for once,
but the harder I push, the dirtier I’m done.
 
Salt in the wound, it isn't ever clean,
no matter how hard, I can't break this routine.
But still, I'll keep going, can't quit the fight,
because every new dawn brings some sort of light.