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Management of waste
Tossing garbage bags
Indistinct collection of odd broken glass and dirty rags
Yet amongst the garbage
What is it I see?
A shining precious golden coin, its gold allure it beckons me

I must climb in
This is my big break
Wait it's moving
Turned it on by mistake

Hydraulics start to crush
But maybe if I rush
I'll leave unscathed from a brush
With certain death

I can't move my legs I'm
Trapped with my head in
The gap between the
Crusher and the chute
My arms are now bent the
Opposite way I
Can't feel my legs they're
Disconnected

I can hear me crunch
My bones are turned to dust
It starts to squash my head
But mid-squeeze the lift stops, and the light turns red

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