once they pushed and twice they pulled — now they churn on things of old . . .
heady steam which crunched of war — now we need them, less and more.
Marched their way, on much campaigns. Drove the cattle, with mercury reins.
hummed a song on rails of magnet, afraid a whisper would call them faggot.
sang a song and pulsed the earth — cared not much to bring you mirth.
had a job, twas all that mattered — willing indeed, if blood got spattered.
Hot of steel, a crash of irons — walking molten lava, with sideburns
a bevy of quail would move for them, these mighty engines — we once called men.
so now the femmes would rule the rail. and the bugger of adam, hangs on Space — impaled.
