A Puddler's Tale

They neither know of night or day,
They night and day pour out their thunder.
As every Ingot rolls away,
A dozen more are split 'asunder.
There is a sign above the gate: Eleven days since a man lay dying,
Now every shift brings fear and hate, and shaken men in terror crying.
*
The molten rivers boil away a fiery brew Hell never equalled,
To their profits the bosses pray,
And Mammon sings in his grim cathedral:
His attendants join the choir,
and Heaven help us if we're shirking!
Stoke the furnace's altar fire and just be thankful that we're working!
*
To this, men, charge the hoppers high, 'lest you endure the foreman's choler!
To this, men, drain the tankards dry,
And let us toast the almighty Dollar;
It keeps us chained here before the fire,
Where heat and noise send the weak a quaking.
That the Siren's infernal cry the open heart sets the ground to shaping.
*
To this, men, raise the ladies high and make them shriek with love and laughter!
To this, men, kiss you woman's eyes,
and raise a song unto the rafters.
Wash the steel mill from your hair,
Beat the table 'till it's breaking.
Don't let terror enter there and in the hearth set the glasses breaking!

I expect the future of human emulated minds to be interestingly similar.