The factory floor... a silent roar A line that ends... at the furnace door We are the cogs... that turn the wheel Of a machine... no one can feel The clock's own heart... a metronome... That beats the rhythm... dragging us home... A wrong step taken... a tool misplaced... From the human line... you are erased... Your number's called... your shift is through... The only choice... they gave to you... Hmmm... What's etched upon... the inner wrist? In pale... sun-deprived... abyss? A number... stripped of name or face... Fills that intimate... empty space... A mark where all the questions start... Buried deep... beneath the heart... Where the biting needle feeds On the body's mortal needs Blood is sworn to ink's command A covenant beneath the hand From the sharp and final kiss Comes the only truth in this This defining, focused pain Branded on the flesh and grain.... The gods here wear... a uniform... And feed upon... the dying swarm... Their ledger knows... no mother's tears... Just columns for... the wasted years... One for hair... shorn neat and clean... One for what... should stand between... The final column... stark and plain... The profit from... the human rain... In this cold math... we find our worth... The cheapest commodity... on earth... Mmmmh... Where the biting needle feeds On the body's mortal needs Blood is sworn to ink's command A covenant beneath the hand From the sharp and final kiss Comes the only truth in this This defining, focused pain Branded on the flesh and grain Aaaahhhh... mmmhmhmm... aaaaaaahhhh... If this machine... should ever stall... And silence fills... the final hall... Let them find... my calibrated mark... A barcode... in the lasting dark... Not a testament... of will... But the final... frozen bill... The product... sorted... filed away... At the closing... of the day... Where the press... once sealed the mesh... Upon the flesh... erased to flesh... I inherit this... a borrowed sign... A fossil of... a faded line... From the piston's rusted flood... Lodged like a scab... within the blood... Beauty was the lie... they sold... To justify... the debt of old... And on this wristβnot mine, but heldβ The final numbers... grim compelled... A count... made absolute... and true... To remember... what they'd do... Hmm...
