Stinking rotten egg smell
We stampede out of the mill
To escape the burning pain
Of sulfur brewing in the molten steel
Sundays only
No inspectors
Fire and brimstone
Stinking rotten egg smell
We stampede out of the mill
To escape the burning pain
Of sulfur brewing in the molten steel
Sundays only
No inspectors
Fire and brimstone
Or how about this?
Sundays
No inspectors
Fire and Brimstone
For souls at work
A friend suggests the last line of the poem should be WTF
As in:
Sundays only
No inspectors
Fire and brimstone
WTF