Did You Just Use The Word 'Twerk?'

Not yet, but I will shortly...

They That's Them

They twitch and twerk,

oh how they jerk,

all along the line.

Yawning at the dawning,

of another day doing time.

They swivel and sway,

yet how they stay,

anchored to the spot.

Mumbling mixed with grumbling,

at their bleak and lowly lot.

They unlock and unload,

at the end of the road,

and begin to disembark.

Fumbling whilst stumbling,

faces clouded over and dark.

They filter and file,

winding back for a mile,

plodding in procession.

Clomping sometimes stomping,

towards a twelve hour session.

There they grovel and grind,

with robotic minds,

just faceless numbers.

Blinking barely thinking,

and everyone gets dumber.

They travail and toil,

for someone else's spoil,

yet they never bristle.

Waiting without abating,

for the final whistle.

They break and head back,

along the track,

a vast and rambling horde.

Staging for their caging,

as they all climb aboard.

They slump and slouch,

some even crouch,

yet they never learn.

Repeating all the bleating,

just to make a return.