Rattle Trap by R. J. Henshall

The queen, she called for taxes,
but the coin was quick for grasping,
To factory tracks, I took my pack,
A rattletrap for tasking,

Time, and time a-passing,
As I worked it with a smile,
But a farce, it was a-casting,
for only took a while
‘Fore in my head, there went an ache,
For all than more my soul could take,
And when my hands began to shake
I felt the bones within them break,

I ran back to my family home,
A doctor! I beseech'd,
My wounds were shown, but pained alone,
For this is what they preached:

“Pylon iron in your eyes,
Is that a steel claw?
You did us well, its no surprise,
You take after your pa’ ”

“Brother, dear, its true I feared,
We’d scrape you off the street,
But your eyes look like electrodes,
And your hands aren’t made of meat,
So at this rate, perhaps your fate
Is sealed, it appears
They’ll fill the place of wasted space
With pulleys, cogs and gears!”