pigmat

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