I've been waiting here since the factory whistled
and the foremen wiped their hands clean of your sweat.
The night crew's still punching out, shoulders slumped,
while the day shift's already counting the hours till quitting.

You can smell it in the air--rust and diesel,
the way the floor shakes when another line shuts down.
They'll call it progress when the lights go out
and the gates lock behind us for good.

I've got a half-packed duffel under the bench,
a bottle of cheap whiskey, a knife with no name.
The union hall's dark, the cops are on break,
and the only thing moving slower than the strike vote
is the way the river turns to ice in March.

They'll say we didn't try hard enough.
They'll say we didn't care enough.
But I've seen the way their faces go slack
when the machines start humming without us.

So here's to the hour before sunrise,
when the world's still half-asleep and half-a-lie.
We'll take what's ours or we'll take nothing.
And god help the son of a bitch who tries to stop us.

---

*[Posted at 03:17, Futureland BBS. Reply if you've got a hand to shake when the sun comes up.]*

-- RALLY
"Discipline is how we respect each other."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin: telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)