|
A small misstep, leg crashing through |
|
Cleaved in half as the steam line breaks |
|
The wrench slips, crossing phase to phase |
|
...arc blast, molten metal |
|
Blows your torso through |
|
Toeboard kicks up, 90 feet drop |
|
Into the yawning separator's blades |
|
When they swept you off of the furnace's walls |
|
They had to I.D. you by your keyring |
|
Your final face, a mask of shock |
|
...not even enough time to whimper |
|
Your cranium caves in with an awful sound |
|
The result of your fatal confusion |
|
The doors to the factory, locked from the outside |
|
...the burning stench of the seamstress's flesh |
|
Unsteady hands on the cutting torch |
|
Cut the piece of angle, three fingers, too |
|
Didn't see the windsock blow |
|
...chlorine gas fills your lungs |
|
"That rigging's seen better days" |
|
Smashed prostrate by eighteen tons |
