She moves with machinery for the fancy sports car trade.
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Part of the industrial process: she sees that they stay made.
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She works from early A.M.. They work her to the bone.
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When I call her in the evening, she's too tired to lift the phone.
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Damned if I'll wait for her, and I'll be damned if I don't.
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Damned if I only see that Rosa on the factory floor.
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Signed on for the duration. They say she came from the East.
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With her tool bag and her coveralls, to pay the rent at least.
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She doesn't talk with workers on the rest of the line
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and over in the canteen, she's alone most of the time.
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Somewhere in her history is a lock without a key.
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She doesn't trust the management--and she won't trust me.
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We're two different animals. We live jungles apart.
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She circles round her freedom and I circle round her heart.
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Rosa On The Factory Floor
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Jethro Tull |