If cars could cry,
Their production lines would be a cortege
Far into Friday night.
With robots weeping on their metal arms,
Desolate.
No one to comfort them,
Despairing of the light.
One day soon,
Our ears will be all opened
To hear the screaming cars,
The weeping robots.
The crying tearswill dry their eyes,
And all the world will hear
The final broadcast.
"Today is Shabbos."
"Today is Shabbos."