I started working in the boiler room. The first year there was as a wooden broom.
“Sweep those floors clean and make them shine”. I knew the floors there were not that kind.
The sweat and dirt soaks into your shirt. Black heavy boots for the new recruit.
Grease and oil, no electric coil. Heat and steam and lifting beam.
The taste of heavy metals on my tongue. Silver dust covers everyone.
A fiery furnace at the gates of hell with flashing beacons and warning bell.
Working hard on the production line. Watch young men growing old before their time.
Molten metal splashing everywhere. Near misses and a warning prayer.
The output was up and we won a cup. To show the rest that we, we’re the best.
“This team works” photos on the canteen wall. The strongest men with the biggest balls.
Then silence, in the pressing halls. Watching slowly as the empire falls.
Seven hundred jobs have to go. The union man said he didn’t know.
Final talks fail and we are on the news. If I could sing then I would sing the blues.
I had saved some money for a rainy rain but it’s rained so long the money floats away.
Sitting on the interrogation chair. Just sign here and just sign there.
“We don’t believe you are meeting the required rules. Looking at me like a scrounging fool.
The taste of heavy metal is on my tongue. There’s no work and I don’t belong.
Visit Twitter @TnGTheBand. Or have a listen.
Anthony Cooney Visit @TnGTheBand on twitter. 