The Factory
Jordan Reyne
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Here in the steel-mill we are forming
Farming the templates of facade.
Barbed and explicit, they are anchors
Weighing the measure of the stars.
Spitting the sparks of ultimatum
Turning the wheel like a blade
Calling the ironman and his daughter
Lie in the maiden that we've made.
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Cos they are and they are and they are
Combing the gutters of compliance
Reaping the fallout of the raized
Welding the steel of redemption
Walk on the ladder when you've paid
Cos they are and they are and they are