Here's a short poem I came up with....

Will there be no end?
Have I came to a complete stop?
Is there an answer to the masses latest trend?
Will my heart be the first thing to drop?

I was here long ago and I knew it well,
there were workers aplenty and they lived in peace,
there was never an inkling of grievance or a want to rebel,
every last one of them longed to spend forty a week in a bath of grease.

On came the cries on high like that of an angel on standby,
Relief? Release? anything but what had been.
They made it seem as if they would die.
Had the lot of them received the suffrage of that most gluttonous sin?

What be that most glorious sound?
Have they finally come back to meet me and accept my plea?
Nay, of course not a sound is to be found.
And my tale shall end with nary an ounce of glee.