Collateral Damage

One can hear metal grinding on metal making a mournful sound. A rusted door swinging aimlessly. The sounds of the death of a town. Or, perhaps, a section of a city infected with jobless blight, a paved road crumbling to nowhere, windows boarded up from the light. Buildings that once contained myriad sounds of workers and machines into the night. The stream of workers changing shifts became a comforting sight Now, ships loaded with raw materials pass silently in the night, headed for more distant shores. Money changed what was once thought right. And why hasn't this obvious travesty turned the lawmakers' swivel heads? They're searching for that pot of gold, never mind about industry's dead. The ruins of collateral damage are hidden by the lustrous Midas gold. Old Glory sewn by workers' hands is just part of our story told. We've added new chapters that tear our hearts as they tell of our greedy ways. Our country is selling its inner strength and it's the worker who finally pays.