Lyrics: The last mold maker
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I read the blueprints, every line and trace,
Shape the steel with steady grace.
Microns matter, each cut must be right,
But they just tell me, “Work all night.”
I build the molds with my blood and hands,
For parts that travel to far-off lands.
Yet my craft is fading, the shops shut down,
Replaced by imports from cheaper towns.
They buy it cheap, then beg me to mend,
A cycle of madness that never will end.
No praise, no thanks, just dirt on my skin,
But when I am gone, who will step in?
The machines hum, but the pride is lost,
My skills discarded, my soul the cost.
Grinding, milling, I hold the line,
Yet they treat me like I’m past my time.
Precision means nothing when cost rules the game,
They mock my work, yet call my name.
One day the tools will break for good,
And no one’s left who understood.
The mold is cracked, the bosses sigh,
“Fix it fast! We need supply!”
But the steel is weak, the cuts are wrong,
I patch the sins, but not for long.
Each job I do, a slap in the face,
My mind is sharp, but I’m out of place.
No time, no pride, just rush and pay,
And still, they push, “Go faster today!”
They buy it cheap, then beg me to mend,
A cycle of madness that never will end.
No praise, no thanks, just dirt on my skin,
But when I am gone, who will step in?
One day the machines will stop and fail,
And they will cry, but to no avail.
No hands left that know the way,
Too late to beg, too late to pay.
