I’ll turn the gears down low
And let the steel chips blow soberly.
Don’t let the chrome door slam.
I’ll pull these gloves on so I’ll break them in,
shivering.
I cut my thumb, let the pendulum swing on me.
There is a jack knife that’s caught in the jerk.
I can’t believe it still works.
The operation’s shy.
The pieces twist, the winding chains, they sigh.
Don’t let the steam pipe burst.
Safety first—‘cause he is just a guy,
shivering.
I cut my thumb, let the pendulum swing on me.
Gotta clean the floor. Gotta shut the door
in this factory of mine.
All day I repair the things that people tear
in this factory of mine.
I know I’m gonna fall, but will I have to crawl?
Is this the way that these odd little machines work?
I haven’t worked here long,
but I am getting strong, soberly.
But all the wheels have spears.
Will I catch my fingers in the gears,
shivering?
I cut my thumb let the pendulum swing on me.
The rain trailed down the window against my bed.
Were you my cure for boredom? My cure instead?
Fumbled, quiet, ugly—the spirit splits.
I tucked my damp hair back with odd little slips.
Are you happy now? Are you happy now:
I cut my thumb, let the pendulum swing on me.