Swing,

Lift,

Swing,

Lift.

It was terribly monotonous being a miner on Mars. We do the same thing every hour, every day, every week, every year. It’s just,

Swing,

Lift,

Swing,

Lift.

Over and over again. On Mars we don’t have a constitution or laws that stop slave labor, so it’s just,

Swing,

Lift,

Swing,

Lift.

Eventually ones mind starts to wonder about things. The new war, for instance. Some of the Natives on Mars took exception to the fact that us humans were digging into the planet. They started to get physical and attack the humans. But I digress, I don’t get to hear much of the war because I just,

Swing,

Lift,

Swing,

Lift.

I kind of hoped that the Natives won so that I wouldn’t have to,

Swing,

Lift,

Swing,

Lift.