Clanging shut the doorways of their souls,
And the sound rips their lips open.
The steel-mill workers do not know of this:
They only seek something that will sweeten
The dirt that has eaten into their flesh
And change it to raw music.
They straggle down this street,
Their faces slack and oiled with amorousness.
Like cats they play with their desires,
Biting them with little laughs