Industry - Lee Clayton

I grew up surrounded by fences electrified and three in a row.

With machine-gun nests at the entrances to town and plants that any minute

could go.

They made the first atomic bomb 'cross the hill from where I played.

Me and the dog used to hide in the woods when the guards were checking for

strays.

I remember fire engines in the night flyed out (?) and terrified.

Physicists cracking beneath the strain and their children, my friends,

terrified.

Industry — that 's why.

My father worked hard for thirty-two years for a sweater, a watch and a clock,

and a heartbeat that doesn‘t push blood very well through veins as hard as a

rock.

Three years away from retirement, they forced him to take a new job.

And as the hatchet-man for the company clan, he was hated and he was cursed

like a dog.

But he kicked and he clawed, he cursed back and he cried — a tired man running

on his pride.

He got the job done though it cost him his legs.

Thanks, Union Carbide.

Industry — father forgive industry.

My brother works now in a sparkling clean room wearing clothes he could take to

Mars.

One little tear in that airtight suit and I doubt if he could get to his car.

And ain‘t it funny how all of the big boys seem always packing their bag?

And headed somewhere that the water is clear and the air, don‘t make a gag.

Industry — it makes me sick.

And well, people, we think ourselves blameless,

let’s call a spade a spade,

it always takes two to tango, my friend, and we’re half, half of this beautiful

day.

Mankind has sold out too cheaply for her cars and her colored TVs,

but I guess the price doesn’t matter too much,

when you’re drug-crazed you’re easy to please.

Industry, praise industry — of the people, by the people, for the people.

And yea, though we walk through the valley of the shadows, let us fear no evil

— or industry.