Factory

The factories churn out endless days
That waste away without much meaning
Bosses and idiots watch the clock
As workers toil in slow brutality
Their lives reduced to mere production
In this never-ending cycle of waste

The air is filled with smoke, a toxic waste
As machines hum and whirr through the days
And endless products reel off the production
Line, each one devoid of any real meaning
Only serving to perpetuate the brutality
Of these soul-sucking, time-stealing factories

The workers shuffle in, each day just a waste
As they're ground down by the never-ending brutality
Of the machines and the bosses who punch the clock
And watch them toiling through the meaningless days
Each moment sapping away at their meaning
And leaving them feeling lost in the midst of production

There's no escaping this endless production
The workers tied to their stations, another day wasted
Feeling like cogs in a machine, drained of all meaning
As the bosses demand more and more without any humanity
It all grinds on in a slow-motion brutality
Marked only by the steady ticks of the clock

The clock, a relentless reminder of the production
That grinds away at their lives with unceasing brutality
Forcing them to endure the endless days
Without any hope of breaking free from this waste
And reclaiming their lives' true meaning

But maybe there's some meaning in this waste
If we listen to the hum of the machines and the clock
And examine the brutality that underpins production
For in the midst of all this meaningless toil and endless days
There are lessons we can learn from this factory waste

Can break free from this slow brutality,
And find meaning in the endless production that grinds away the days?
Even in the waste of the factories, there is still hope on the clock.