In iron are groans,
Clank of shackles
And guillotine blades' lament,
Shrapnel bullets splashed whizzing
On earthly borders' edge.
In iron are summons
Ringing-thunderous,
The cast-iron movement of masses:
To metal's clank
Seethed, arose,
Sparkled in the whirl of eyes.
In iron is purity,
Invocation, radiance
Of mimosa-tender lashes;
There are flute trills—
Lit and extinguished
In smiles of enraptured faces.
In iron is tenderness,
Playful snowness,
In it, burnished, shines love,-
Sunset scarlet,
Surge and fatigue
In the rusty fracture—blood.
In iron is autumn,
Cold bluishness
In rusty pine branches;
There is sultry summer,
Clothed in mirage,
In spring's hot blooming.
In iron is burning,
Rebellion, melody
By the smashed wave of rocks,
Siren's tunefulness
In the bubbling of foam
Where the twisting body is free.
In iron is ductility,
Adroitness and deftness
Is in the dances of callused hands,
There's current in our veins,
In ringing chisels,
A circle welded by the furnaces.
In iron is strength—
Giants are nurtured
With rusty juice of ore.
As an iron army
Forward, my brothers,
Under labor's fiery flag
Friedrich Engels
Kraftwerk - We are the Robots
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