The employment prospect of CNC major is too poor.

The lathe worker has a knife in his hand: mm-hmm. Hey, cut the iron. Ten turners and nine blacks; I'm covered in dust. It is normal to stand still; That's what I do. You have so many hot marks; Who to say silently. Summer is hot and sweaty; Work hard to earn money. Winter is bitterly cold; No money on New Year's Day. I want to bring a lathe worker to study; You have to skin you. Latchers burned their eyelids; It's not unusual to cut your finger. It is normal to suffer; Regret entering this industry. Don't be idle all the year round; Advise peers to steal more time. Don't finish your body! In order to live, I face the lathe alone and hang my beautiful years on the knife. I can't throw in my future direction until the fire is on. Casting can't make the perfect house I want, and iron scissors can't make the love I pursue. It also took away all my dreams. I want to fly freely and be as happy and healthy as others, but the sucker caught my wings, and the formula that binds my body and mind can't find where my love is. In the world, my hope speed can't shake off my sadness, but it reflects my aging appearance. Chamfering can't pour out the treasure of my life, and grooving can't cut off my lonely heart, Cang Sang on my face, and the confusion in my heart that can never be touched. There is still a long way ahead. Who knows my sadness as a lathe worker in this heartless world?