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This colossal industrial monstrosity,
Has been home for many weeks.
We toil within, about and upon
Twenty-four seven, twelve and twelve,
The length of our laboring stride.

Lest one think this be its totality,
To wear our souls to bone
Dangers are nigh upon every tread
From smash or break of flesh or bone
Constant vigilance be our creed.

The food they dispense quite liberally,
To fuel our daily endeavors.
The chefs they employ can handily astound.
With roast, catch, quail or etouffee,
Our pallets suffer no neglect.

Of home and hearth we think longingly
And crave loves passionate throes.
So when the time comes for our leaving
By boat or by plane we care not
Lighthearted we say our farewells.

"See the man with the lonely eyes, oh, take his hand, you'll be surprised." Supertramp.

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The following comments are for "The Oil Patch"
by nauticus66

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