Go straight along the assembly line.
I saw my youth.
Flowing like blood.
Motherboard, shrapnel, tin box, flash.
No one will help me with the job at hand.
Fortunately, the station where I work was given to me.
Hands are like machines.
Tirelessly, rob, rob, rob.
Until your hands are in full bloom.
Cocoon, oozing wound.
I didn't even notice.
I'm on my own.
An ancient sculpture.
2. "Work life"
Indulge in work and life, I grow a sense of loneliness between my eyebrows.
Let the machine polish day and night, with a clash.
One hundred thousand wage earners, one hundred thousand female wage earners.
Put your best youth.
On the assembly line, buried by hand
The master said that this is a high-speed machine and that is a universal machine.
This is a carrier and that is a fixing device.
But all I see is cold.
The line leader said that they all came out to work, and no one forced you.
I am tied to the shame column of memories by this sentence.
Count the years that can't go back.
The moon rises from the factory.
The moon rose from the factory and opened the umbrella of the night.
You come out of the workshop and I'll go in through the security door.
The white night shift is handed over here, and the light of the machine is slightly inferior to the fading of youth.
The screwdriver made up for the defect of its internal organs, and the warehouse was full of overnight food.
We left it for the night shift and eliminated it by standing guard.
For many days, I have kept my love for life.
Between machines, wear and tear gradually.
A lost sleep spot will not light a lamp.
A strong wind of life is blowing.
The stars above the factory are teetering.
My dream sleeps in the shipping dock at three in the morning.
The end of the sky.
The moon rises from the factory.