Churned out from the factory
the fractured of
society
what ******' hope is
there left for me?

I want a stewards inquiry.

They'll take them
young
at the point of
a gun  
make them sign on
the dotted line
and time after time has run away
they'll say,
it's too late now for second thoughts.

In The Lord Chief Justice courts
an appeal is filed by
the pregnant women with the
awkward smiles,

but it's far too late to remonstrate
or join a group and demonstrate.

The fracture turns
as the factory burns and the fireman dressed in red
are all at the local football match,
though some are still in bed

and I know that hope has upped and gone,
I'd have done the same, but I took too long and on the wrongs and rights of those flesh coloured tights
the Lord Chief Justice rules.

Take your children
fill in forms
put them in the factory
bed them down in dorms.

Breed them
Feed them
we will need them to
churn out more men

Society salutes you.

But we take them young,
under the hammer at the
point of a gun

auction lots the lot of them.

I am slavishly aware of the value of life and the need for fresh air
unfortunately
so are they

they'll keep us grey
oxygen starved
the beauty we see has
already been halved
and soon to be quartered
and we're being slaughtered

down at the knackers yard
living's incredibly hard
even with a union card

we try
some succeed
but
only because the
factory
decrees it.