The Slow Advance

[Verse 1]
We clock in under the Koppers sign, it’s buzzing a B-flat low
And trade the same five stories out before the second whistle blows
We watch the slag cars ghosting on their glowing, molten run
And count the hours backwards from the rising of the sun.

[Verse 2]
The new supervisor's got a clipboard and a soft, expensive coat
He never looks you in the eye, just a quick glance at your throat
We saw the white sedan he drives, with out-of-state plates on
And felt the whole damn concrete floor start singing a different song.

[Verse 3]
This last cold snap of April, we all smell the ozone sharp
From welders stitching skeletons on some forgotten barge
And we talk a little louder now, about the Bears and fishing lines
Pretending not to see the math in those straight and painted signs.

[Bridge]
"Thirty-six months on that new Silverado," Czerniak said last night,
"She'll be paid off 'round the time we finally get the schedule right."
We all laughed, but the sound got caught, a gear with a missing tooth
In the silence of the machinery that grinds out simple truth.

[Outro]
We're already a memory here, a film of settled dust
We're the patina on the high-beams, the beauty in the rust.