The good ship with its links,
The tongs and the poker,
The wire so fine,
The pickaxe and shovel,
Are mine, are mine.
Hail, my Father Iron!
I, your son, am Steel.
Heating and then cooling
With the silver’s brightness,
The good ship with its links,
The tongs and the poker,
The wire so fine,
The pickaxe and shovel,
Are mine, are mine.
Hail, my Father Iron!
I, your son, am Steel.
Heating and then cooling
With the silver’s brightness,