| Listen to the heart of the factory pumping
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| Liquified waste of production
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| In a scrap yard of bones made of concrete
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| On the chimney top stands the last welder of languid futility
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| Watching a torpid marsupial quagmire
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| Ramshackle jackhammers thumping along
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| To the rhythm of the assembly line
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| Listen to the heart of the factory pumping
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| Captain Ahab is back for the nightshift
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| Waiting down by the docks for a shipment
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| That may never arrive
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| Kiss the cobalt, smell the limestone and carbon monoxide
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| Now he is singing a song, it is: «Glory, glory, Hallelujah!
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| I’m so proud to be guarding this heart machine, it is Perfect!»
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| Like Phoebus on the crescent, dancing in a blizzard on the moon
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| Flags are hoisted, sailors are closing the breach of the shell
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| Ring the bell! |
| I’m piercing the eye of the moon
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| From the roof I can see perfectly clear, travelling suits of silver,
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| mechanical telescopes, crowded barracks and scaffolds of gold
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| I’m piercing the eye of the moon
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| Snowflakes, stars and orbits, mushroom umbrellas and clouds
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| The mourning cloak of the belching smoke is fluttering over a house like a ghost
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| Through foundries and wobbling grass, rusty arbors and broken glass |