In the black factory
There are machines
Constantly turning and grinding
Gnashing their teeth in
The near darkness
They churn out,
Through an infinite spider
Webbing of mechanisms
Black
Black as night
It is pure evil
Emanating from shiny
Fabric-like darkness
And the mere sight
Sets hairs on end
The deafening silence of the dread looms
Steals all hearing
Oppressing listeners,
Wearing them down until
All that remains is darkness
The center of the factory
In the middle of this
Impossible maze of
Light reflecting black
Is me
High above an abyssal floor
That may not exist
In the very clouds of darkness
Hovers a throne of cords
Suspended in the air
Cords of metal rubbing flesh raw
Trapping me in an ever-worsening
Claustrophobia
Movement impossible
Total paralysis
I fuel this place
Hate
Fueled by hate
Fueled by hate
Yes
It is thin needle scraping
Rough gray rock
Piercing flesh
Again and again
And again
Agony is nothing
But it becomes everything
Fibers churning
Infinite
And nonexistent
Light streams
The white of malevolence
From a glassed dugout
Far away
Encasing a man
White reflection of evil
Is all I see
Bouncing off black
Always darkness
Always
Who is he
The man in the booth
Shadowed
My controller
Made from the fabric of this place
Fueled by the product
Formed from hate
The never-ending manufacture
Perpetuating the factory
With its boundless walls
Tumbling
I'm tumbling
Yes, always falling in place
With cacophonous silence surrounding
Bursting ear drums
Suspended above it
Inevitably making it
Always thinking it into existence
This is mine,
My factory.
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