The State is Iron

The State is Iron by Jita FM We rise each day before the sun, Our hands are calloused, never done. The forge, the file, the loading dock— Each task a step, each shift a clock. We are the ones who weld the ships, Who feed the line, who drive the slips. We mine the moons, we build the steel— Work is honor. Duty real. The State is Iron. The line is life. We bleed in silence. We do not strife. The hammer strikes. The welders stand. Caldari strength, by worker's hand. Our Titans rise from factory floor, Not palaces nor open war. We drill, assemble, clean and cast— No second wasted, none held…