Maestranzas de Noche

Black iron that sleeps
Black iron that moans
Through every pore a scream
Of despair

The burnt ashes
Over the sad earth
The broths in which the bronze
Melted its pain

Birds
From what distant country
Unfortunate cawed
In the endless painful night

And the scream tightens me
Like a coiled nerve
Or like the broken string
Of a violin
Every machine has an open pupil
To look at me
To look at me

On the walls, on the walls fly
The question marks,
The vigornias bloom
In the soul of the bronzes.

And there's a trembling of steps
In the deserted rooms
And among the black night
Desperately they run
And the souls
Of the dead workers sob.