Furnace

Above the furnace A differential hell- fire Bursting forth in her fury Tonnes of metals having lost their way wait in line for the molten salvation With fifteen hundred degrees of correction Below the furnace literally sang horrors Something the elders call the Hum of Death Thirty four thousand volts of unfiltered baritone featuring souls of metals beyond correction seeking the ultimate forgiveness A distant peep reveals turgid wires made of pure copper sagging In obedience to gravity and heat Bearing water and power to nourish her This is a woman who clearly does not joke with her rations ...