Down at Liberty Ashes
The rigs run thousand-store routes
That take 14 hours if the trashbags ain't bladed
Or belching out flames from the stow
The drivers chomp pills to push through without stopping
They're hiring more help out of pocket
If those flunkies get bodied by garbage or wheel, well
This business got costs, ya know
And hey, they all had a choice
Anyway, they all had a choice
Down in Okie, the judge gave God a hand
Snatching up cons from jail for the plant
Where their work would make them free
From addiction, mincing chickens
On the state's dime, chained to the line, stricken
The work's grisly, but the profit's tidy
And they chose those mangled hands
Over prison
Out on the plains, he slams booze and weed
To smother remembrance of rancid sliding grain
Compressing his lungs, like industry's crumbling teeth
In that dire silo where they pulled him free
But lost both his friends, still in their teens
Submersed in the corn, crushed out of shape
Like his Busch cans, their livid limbs
Twisted and washed out with the feed
Hours later, the fruits of subsidy
Still studded their cold skin, like a golden plague
They'd just listened to their managers
They should have chosen better
They always had a choice and they made it
They got the contracts
They signed on the lines that were dotted
And they couldn't read the fine print
But even so, they knew this:
This big machine eats everything
And the only way out's
Through a hole in the ground