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In a bonded warehouse

A piece of hot iron caved in

Thanks to its pitch blend surface

It could dig down a blasting furnace

A cast of life, a sheath of pain, a stale premise

Affirm to the silver needles, a thread of effervescence

In the grim face of gravity, magnets and dipoles withered

In brief, a sick metal is born to a simmering mold of silicon dreams