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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required You don't think you owe me Well I contend you do On my desk, I expect a bouquet of roses I worked thru most my childhood Paying my playground dues ‘Cause the factory called America never closes Insufferable agony Is an overrated trend I don’t trust anything that relies on poses It’s come too close to my family It’s stricken my very last friend While the factory called America never closes It disarmed us into sympathy Made us watch a little too near Pulled the landscape right from under our noses And stole four out of five senses -- The whistle I still hear Of the factory called America that never closes We share a hospital room, Divided by two sheer curtains What God would have concealed, the Market exposes No, I don’t pray to no doctor Not with all these nurses To work a factory called America that never closes I see my father over there Succumbed to a Swedish catalog chair, Nearly choking from his fitful dozes If aging is the National Work Zone, It’s wonder we come anywhere Near a factory called America that never closes Some punch the card Some punch their spouse Some punch below the belt But that’s expected There’s just two paths In this woeful house To the left it says, “Approved” To the right, “Rejected” Everyone choose a weapon The selection’s pretty hot We got everything from geriatric purses to firemen's hoses Made by way of China Shipped straight to the parking lot Of the factory called America which never closes Oh no, still in the Garden We've hardly budged an inch We're barely past the part about Sinai and Moses In time, the clay will harden And Judgment, a sure cinch Till then, the factory called America never closes No, the factory called America never closes.
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