Far away to a distant land
Far away from motherland
People go to earn
To quench their thirst

To be the first
They do not shirk
Away from work
The tools, the machines
The files and the rest
Slowly become
Their loving nest

Yet
Most of the lot
Are certainly not
The child they were
In their mothers arm
Long ago
In a distant farm

Today they are
Not men but machines
Craving so much
For the human touch