From the giant machination

deep within the press machine

in the midst of Herlan’s rhythm

round the punch and in-between

Under foot, Pigmat is watching

Softened steel, the product born

With every beat a drop has fallen

all neglected and forlorn.

Hardened pieces fall in random

from the gaping metal hole

bleeding freely, oil is feeding

soaking soothing Pigmat’s soul.

Under foot and under pressure

likely servant to the deed

thriving in the blood of progress

dying with production’s need

You will see him in the darkness

giving meaning to the cause

Pigmat offers up his body

to the tired relentless paws

greasy hands are ever reaching

tossing Pigmat to his death

he is destined yet to serve them

with his last disposing breath.