By Robin Holly
This morning on the factory floor, the temperature was 110
The workers wanted to complain, didn't have time to do it then
Another heat of parts is done, that grimy monster breathing steam
Needs to be reloaded again, then go on to another machine
Most people think factories are like what's shown on TV
Clean and modern, and full of robots are the places they see
But some things can't be clean, even in this high tech age
Always some workers with dirty hands, laboring for that union wage
They wait with hope for the relief of the winter cold
In this factory not much has changed from what it was fifty years ago
On the street and in the offices, cars drive by, the engines hum,
This morning on the factory floor, the temperature was 101