He has a memory akin
To a walking computer
It s just not in his nature to pause
Be it a sprung axel spring
Or a broke piston ring
He will home right in to the cause

It seems that he s here,
Then in a flash over there
Then in seven more heartbeats,
Seems he s been everywhere
As he s moving about pursuing his task,
And as far as the why
In the method he s choosing
Or his peculiar choice
In the tools that he s using
Well, you may want to know, but don t even bother to ask.

He s seen this before,
And he works with such pride,
That it shows in the length
And the pace of his stride
When it s tired old machinery that breaks.
If it s tiny screwdrers
That a jeweler would use
Or from seventeen hammers,
It s his job to choose,
From any specialty tool that it takes.

With his long-practiced patience
He scrapes off the mud
And if necessary,
The half-ton of crud,
Or whatever it takes in accessing,
The component he seeks
And it might take weeks
And if it s Herculean with hammers,
Or a feather-light touch
To the machine his touch is caressing.

If it s a hammer he s using
Or his knuckles he s bruising
His long-practiced methods are such
(As he maneuvers about at his own chosen pace)
And when it s sometimes suggested
That he s doing too much
He just grins through the grease on his face

And the diversity in
The tools that he s using