There's something wrong with you.
You've got a steaming headache,
You just have to move away from that
Burning hob.
The heat is sensational,
There's red hot vapour in the middle,
You can't get through and the only
Way out is to cool right down.
Hey conventional copper kettle,
You're tarnished and green.
You belong to some forgotten age,
To some Bronze Age studio,
Raking and stoning the cold hard floor,
Of the kiln.
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