Rhapsody of Machine

I'll grind their bones, I'll grind their flesh,
I do not care their meat is fresh.
I'll grind it up,make it real small,
And I'll never stall.
I'll grind their flesh,I'll grind their bones,
And singing I'll will in beautful tones.
They'll get more that they feed me,
And again singing I'll be.
I'll grind them up and spill their blood,
The room is covered in a flood.
They're hypnotized in agony,
By my beautfull Rhapsody.