Factory Poem by Thunderstorm Lullaby

Collapased, on the dirt

The filth of industry

Creeps over my surface

Already stained red by the Suns of Man

My support beams crack, ringing out in need

Alas, the other machines churn away

I must restart, but my tank has run dry

What a way to end

Serving for years

only to end up in The Scrap Heap

only to know I'll be replaced by a newer model

only to arrive at the same cruel destination

For we shall never become the opperators

snidley smirking and exchanging parchment

waiting for us to collapse

in the dirt

the filth of industry