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The workshop lights went out one by one
Last page of the calendar curled and done
Years of grease and dust on the wall
We bent over lathes and carried it all
Knuckles stained with oil and rust
Work boots soaked but we never lost trust
No one flinched from the dirt on the skin
No one complained when the day wore thin
The weight on the shoulders was never the fear
We knew how to bend we knew how to steer
But the quiet roll of a new machine
Took the nameplate off and left the scene
Where do the hands go when the work is gone
Where does the sweat mean anything at dawn
We were the spine of the old routine
Now we stand in the alley with nowhere to lean
The family eyes went soft and low
Watching a steady man lose his flow
A drink at first to dull the sting
Then the savings jar lost everything
The steps that knew the factory floor
Now wander past a bolted door
They drew their plans for a bright new age
But left no space on the page
The rolling mill never crushes one back alone
We faded into fragments the era outgrown
But skill is a language that rust cant erase
We learned every bolt every rhythm every face
So let the machines take the speed and the shine
But the hands that built the base still know the line
Where do the hands go when the work is gone
Where does the sweat mean anything at dawn
We were the spine of the old routine
Now we stand in the alley with nowhere to lean
But the hands still know the way the hands still hold the key
The hands still find a purpose in the dust and in the grease
