The Blacksmith Shop

There are tools on  a junk pile in the Blacksmith's shop
Once created for service but now they're not
Broken,dull and rusty they sit in a cobbwebbed corner
Absent of all purpose and useless to their owner

There are tools on the anvil melted down molten hot
They feel the strength of their master as he pounds with all he's got
Moldable and shapeable into instruments of purpose
Soon to be polished and productive
And worthy of his service

And in the blacksmith shop
We all have our lot
We may choose to rebel or obey
And in the blacksmith shop
The fire's burning hot
And we may all go through it someday

There are tools in a chest at the blacksmith's feet
Each one serves a purpose and makes his set complete
Sharpened and primed they lay ready on demand
But they can only function on the power of the blacksmith's hand

Yes we're all in the blacksmith shop
We must search our hearts and take up our cross
With each lesson in life, may another flame ignite
Truly tried and tested and purified

And in the blacksmith shop
We all have our lot
We may choose to rebel or obey
In the blacksmith shop the fire's burning hot
And we must all go through it someday