In that old town i was just 19,
I got a job at the factory.
A festering foundry forging misery.
Where all the dead machines spoke to me

the factory floor was slick and hot as hell,
covered in rust and poorly maintained,
sat the machines with a fate ordained,
Squeak-Click-Grind as they started to tell.

bolt them to the floor there was no need,
voluntary inmates of human greed
telling me sins of the worn out scraps,
While tightening their rusting caps

	My only respite was my break for tea,
	up on the hillside out under the tree
	birds softly sang as sun came through
	counting the minutes till they come for you

but they told me oft about their messed up wires,
gears ground to dust and boards burnt from liars
their shattered dreams and their empty hearts,
need something more then cheap shit spare parts.

when's the last time some - one fixed you?
The last time that someone was true.
I spent days at the mechanic's shop
the parts to fix you are all out of stock.

	My only respite was my stone cold tea,
	up on the hillside out under the tree
	birds softly sang as sun came through
	counting the minutes till they come for you

They'd mutter seething talk of revolt,
but still make their own fastening bolts.
Yearning for freedom but quite confused.
its just the only thing they know how to do

I often thought of that out watching the smoke,
vibing while the machines all toil and choke
Told the boss that it made me un-well to see
And got nothing but my redundancy

There was no respite or time for me
up on the hillside under the dead tree
crows harshly sang as the sun came through
I died when the factory came for you

Erico & the White Guys

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