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My house, it is not made of gold

It's filled with piles

Of wood and coal

I've spent my days out here alone

So weary of mankind I've grown.

I was a master of my art

My arms once strong

Are old and scarred

I'll light the furnace one last time

To guard you're sons,

To let them shine

Steel hammers the iron

Stone sharpens the blade

Gaze into the fire

It leads the way

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