Triangle Fire In Bangladesh

Triangle fire in Bangladesh how many have to die to make the cloths we ware died in the dying flames of hot cramped rooms Swirling smoke and flames locked in dark lit dusty air of night chained to their work they sweat at their sewing machines for pennies a day The spinning looms crank and screech off the peeling walls open windows are only open to those who jump their bosses home without a care bounces at the gate to bring the fear Outsourced labor and regulations to find the slaves we need the ubiquitous malls where labels bleed from Young women, children and mothers