You! Nine to fiver, grinder, anvil-man! You that waits still, for the masters' molten steel whip and the blows of an ever increasing workload. Hold fast your shape as he wields the work-blows and reply with the ever affirming clank as you have done since your casting. For I am the overtimer, grinder, mill-man whose teeth scream as I'm fed poor, bulk, rough material for shaping. I will hold fast my teeth as I'm forced to cut rough into smooth and I will reply with the ever affirming grind-scream as I have done since my build.