It's a little bit scary, in the factory of the weary,
The kids are 200 years old, and everyone's blurry;
The Caspers and Scooby-Doos are implied,
But I'm pretty sure someone got paid, and someone lied.
Take a dare, you little pussyfoot, yellow-bellied jellyfish,
I make that claim to a smaller boy, as an alarmist;
But as the balls had not dropped, the shaking knees with knickers,
A girl made us all run into the madness, as the storm flickers.
An old factory, something of silent-era fame,
A reputation of "reach-out-and-grab-ya" games;
Look around, not one of us more than a 90-pound runt,
The girl still likes to run the gambits of insult.
"Did you forget the stories of child servitude?"
"Did you forget the starvation, and lack of food?"
This place is haunted, a Hell of a mess,
Why we willing went in here is anyone's guess.
The girl wasn't in school, no one's sister,
No spin the bottle, no one kissed her;
It's a little bit scary, in the factory of the weary,
The kids are 200 years old, and everyone's blurry.
