Through ages past, we forged ahead,
With gleaming tools where dreams were led.
Soft metal pipes, they carried flow,
Yet silent poison crept below.
A glowing spark, in dials bright,
Lit up the dark, but stole the light.
Brushes kissed lips, an artist's pride,
Yet bones grew frail as youth subsides.
Fibers woven, fire's foe,
In walls and mines, their curse would grow.
Lungs turned...
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