once there was a witch with a ******* hat with a magic broomstick and ******* cat
with her magic broomstick she could fly up in to the air one day she went to get  it but the broomstick wasnt there
she looked in to her cauldren that was boiling near by for without her stick the witch she couldnt fly.
then she stirred and stirred  hoping she might see if the cauldren could tell her where the broom might be
there she  saw her broomstick flying on its own the broomstick had decided to fly off all alone
now it was getting dark and  started to turn black then suddenly the broom decided to go back
it went back to the witch while it still had light now the witch was happy and so full off delight

The pungent waft of sweat ,beer and malaise in the dimly lit belly
Of this rustic little foundry the stinging clamour of
Mechanized machinery
Sparkling dross splatters the walls like an angry draggons sneeze
heavy laden hands throwing sledge hammers  at metals on the torments random lights flashing
raging hiss of plazma flame
And hearty laughter full of grit
sand lubricating the pit
Communicating involves over exaggerated gestures cuppin youre hands and screaming with a smile ,
leaning towards the recipent
From a safe distance
To avoid the accompanying  spit
A dizzying array chaotic cringe worthy things slowly without warning  an eclectic orchestra forming naturally,
Out of comradery,
Forging a violent symphany  
At the heart of which
The Crucibal almost overly
color enhanced
Gurgaling cauldren
Glowing Vermillion
1700 degrees farinhieght
Hypnotic
The way it boils rolls and flows
Like its unearthly 33 percent zinc yellow brass
Rain or shine
Yet another
Flawless
Masterpiece