Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough

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🪓 Verse 1
Karl was a welder, broke his back for the trade
Up at six every morning, in the cold and the shade
Now he’s pushing that cart through the park all alone
No one looks twice – being old’s overthrown

He built walls, laid streets, gave his strength and his skin
But all that remains is the dirt from the bin
Is this what they call justice? Is this respect?
When your life’s work ends in a bottle-collect?

🔁 Chorus
Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough
Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust
Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down
From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown

💔 Verse 2
Hilde was a nurse, gave her youth to the ward
Now she’s freezing at home, can’t afford to move forward
She don’t heat in the winter, barely turns on the light
Her pension’s a joke – and no help’s in sight

Politicians preach like they know the deal
“Work till you drop” – that’s the raw, cold steel
They say “extend it,” we say “betrayal”
You give forty years, and they still let you fail

🕯️ Verse 3
Gerd sleeps by the store in a sleeping bag tight
Used to run a garage – now he’s cold every night
But the shame’s not on him, it’s deep in the law
That treats the old broken like trash on the floor

They toss you aside like a rusted tool
But these folks built the cities – man, this system is cruel
No thanks, no help, just the bureaucrat’s stare
And a cold little whisper: “Sorry, nothing there.”

🌙 Verse 4
Klaus is seventy-four, still riding through the rain
With papers in his bag and that hunger in his vein
He picks up bottles just to buy some bread
Sleeps on a bench with a hoodie for a bed

If he's lucky, he finds a coffee and peace
If not – it’s hunger and a night with no heat
His home’s a pavilion, cold like a tomb
And each night he whispers: “Is this what I’m due?”

🔁 Final Chorus (slow & raw)
Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough
Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust
Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down
From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown

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Chorus (Intro) Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown 🪓 Verse 1 Karl was a welder, broke his back for the trade Up at six every morning, in the cold and the shade Now he’s pushing that cart through the park all alone No one looks twice – being old’s overthrown He built walls, laid streets, gave his strength and his skin But all that remains is the dirt from the bin Is this what they call justice? Is this respect? When your life’s work ends in a bottle-collect? 🔁 Chorus Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown 💔 Verse 2 Hilde was a nurse, gave her youth to the ward Now she’s freezing at home, can’t afford to move forward She don’t heat in the winter, barely turns on the light Her pension’s a joke – and no help’s in sight Politicians preach like they know the deal “Work till you drop” – that’s the raw, cold steel They say “extend it,” we say “betrayal” You give forty years, and they still let you fail 🔁 Chorus Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown 🕯️ Verse 3 Gerd sleeps by the store in a sleeping bag tight Used to run a garage – now he’s cold every night But the shame’s not on him, it’s deep in the law That treats the old broken like trash on the floor They toss you aside like a rusted tool But these folks built the cities – man, this system is cruel No thanks, no help, just the bureaucrat’s stare And a cold little whisper: “Sorry, nothing there.” 🔁 Chorus Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown 🌙 Verse 4 Klaus is seventy-four, still riding through the rain With papers in his bag and that hunger in his vein He picks up bottles just to buy some bread Sleeps on a bench with a hoodie for a bed If he's lucky, he finds a coffee and peace If not – it’s hunger and a night with no heat His home’s a pavilion, cold like a tomb And each night he whispers: “Is this what I’m due?” 🔁 Final Chorus (slow & raw) Elders picking bottles ‘cause the pension ain’t enough Worked for forty years, now it’s rain and rust Homeless with pride, but the system kicks down From the job to the coffin – welcome to the breakdown

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