You see,
Chunks of pyrite embed the mind,
How flawlessly have we yearned,
Man's inclusion to cog and wheel.
So ironic most of us find,
When the stomach is churned,
Gusto for iron and steel.
Liquid auburn rains from the heavens,
A stanic syrup composed of scrap.
Spans of cable, provide a brothy leaven,
To refuel in volty nap.
Blobs of rust crust the sky,
Flocks of mourning stars to eat.
Habit geared rampant, by and by,
Has delivered us this feat.
So don't you discourage,
About this tinkered tomorrow,
Where we all plough, breathe, and bleed,
Industry.
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