Percussive engineering, repairing,
nice ways of saying:
"Hit it until it works"
rusted joints resolute,
set in their wicked orangey ways,
grasping, holding on to the norm,
the set way of life.
their hands grow tired with oil,
and vibration, with each peal of metal on metal
I whisper to them, telling them the futility
of holding on, the freedom of change,
but they will have none of it,
they sing back in rich vibratos:
"life is flux, but I am stone,
I will break before I bow."
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