The Industrial Disease [Lyric Poem]

The runs of an old mill at Vickery Creek Park in Atlanta.
I heard the last gasp and wheeze 
of Industry's fatal disease.
Why would we need any workers?
We don't need factories!
We'll grow it all from nanobots
in a closet where you please.
There'll be a 3-D printer, printing
printers endlessly.
You won't hear another mention
of Industrial Disease.
The question is not how or where
to make it, that'll be a breeze.
The question on economist's minds...
that strains their expertise.
Is how will slobs who have no jobs
pay for their indices?