>>64126934
In the land east of Zhing,
Where the hammers go PING!
There are factories nastier than anything.
The air smells of glue,
Of old paint, smoke, and stew,
And the workers wear rags that were once uniforms new.
The ladders are bent,
The support beams are spent,
If the ceiling falls down, well, that’s time well-spent!
A boy on the line
Lost a hand making twine,
They just yelled, “Work faster! We’re still behind!”
The lights sometimes spark,
The floor’s always dark,
And the fire escapes lead to a locked-up park.
The belts go ka-CHUNK,
And the vats go ker-THUNK,
And the foreman is drunk on combustibles’ funk.
“Do you need a day off?”
“Well, you’re welcome to cough,
But you’ll work ‘til you drop or they’ll cut your pay off.”
The smoke burns the eyes,
The machines eat the thighs,
And the company writes off the dead as “supplies.”
And we clap, “What a deal!
All this stuff for a steal!”
While the factory floor’s just a meat-grinding wheel.
So remember when proud,
With your iPhone held loud,
It was birthed in a place where screams blend with the crowd.
