Based on Lowry's The Cripples

They walked on sticks
The crowd of men
The thickness of broom handles
With dirty great boots on the end

With rolled up trousers
Turned up at the ends
Outside the factory
A sea of wooden shins

On the broad flagstone street
Each and everyone had at one time, chose
To sell their legs for meat
When the factory, suddenly closed

Same for every man and boy
Walking to the cricket
Like a scarecrow waist up
Waist down, the wicket

The factory, that's what they worshipped then
Had out-grown itself exponentially...
Employing all; women, girls, boys and men
It swallowed every family

They worshipped it with industry
And sold their legs for meat
Now the men walk by the dismantled beast
With wooden legs and wooden feet.