In the dark there looms a shape,
A shape with wheels and teeth,
With fire in it’s belly,
And a horn the sound of grief.Ssshrumguggrgruff
The wheels start to turn,
It’s two piece arm starts to move.
Down and to the fore.Smoke and sparkes pour into the night,
Crufurcrufurcrufurcruf..cruf..cruf..
It’s toothed arm crunches up the slope,
The soil swallowed by it’s maw.It’s arm raised –
It sighs, steamily in the dark,
Dreaming oily ragfilled dreams.
With a protesting grumble,
It ponderously turns,It’s eyes glint with fire,
As it spews it’s murky load.
Krang!
Soil spills from it’s jaws,
Spattering on the waste heap.It turns back to face the trembling bank, and…
WhhrrrrrrrKlunk.
It’s arm lowers,
It’s maw closes,
And on graunching tracks it advances.
To take another bite.