Across the Factory Floor

I’m walking across,

The factory floor.

My mind has been cast upon a,

Desolate shore.

I’ve been out of action so I’m,

Hungry for more.

Just strolling across the,

Factory floor.

Hipster girls gaze with a,

Confected malaise.

Too many cooks,

This is the kind of scene,

That does not smell,

Quite as good as it looks, no, no, and it looks so fine.

You entered my orbit through this,

Deadlocked door.

Disgust in your body language,

Yet wanting much more.

You tore off your Furstenberg blouse,

I smeared your face.

A one stop shop hawking,

Metaphysical grace.

Snap me, scrap me, throw me away.

Create a working notion for your

Monochrome day.

Betray me, dismay me,

Deflect me from sin.

Persuade me you are better than this,

State you are in,

And I won’t walk away.

Andy’s reflective he has,

Nothing to say.

As Valerie draws her piece and,

Changes his day.

Jazz in a bookstore, stroke that,

Sculpted velour.

Catching your eye across this,

Seedy decor.

Hipster boys share with a,

Devil may care.

By hook and by crook,

We are the kind of dish,

That does not taste,

Quite as good as we look, no, no,

But we look real fine.

Gazing at you,

Across the Factory floor.