The tears of mechanics are pinched between the grinding gears,
Cries, screams and steady holds to count the years.
The blueness of his collar stained his working neck,
And men, not boys, shook steady hands.
Time spent in distant work,
Only amplified his broken unshaken heart.
The time was young, the time was new,
Men upon men worked together with whom he never knew.
American beauty is what it’s called,
Because of their unselfishness and their love for God.