You don't know, my name is hidden in a palace card.

My hands became part of the assembly line, and my body was signed.

Contract, the hair is turning from black to white, leaving noise and running around.

Overtime, pay ... I see through the silent incandescent light.

See the tired shadow projected on the machine and move slowly.

Turn around, bow your head, and be as silent as a piece of cast iron.

Ah, the iron of dumb language is full of disappointment and sadness of strangers.

These rusted irons in time, trembling irons in reality.

I don't know how to protect a silent life.

This life without name and gender, this life supported by contract.

Where to start? On the iron bed in the dormitory for eight people in the moonlight.

What illuminates is homesickness, which is the love that flirts quietly in the roar of the machine.

Or the young man parked on the payroll, how impetuous the world is?

Comfort a weak soul if the moonlight comes from Sichuan.

Then youth is ignited by memories, but it goes out on the assembly line seven days a week.

The rest, these drawings, iron, metal products, or white.

Qualified list, red defective product, incandescent lamp, I can still bear loneliness.

And pain, in a hurry, is warm and long. ...