High cold work with copper and donuts

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Sitting in my car, the heater blowing
sitting on my hands, and knowing
the wind will slice me, mince me,
I hear a sudden crack cross air,
hammer on copper, one man calling
Joe, bring up more rivets!

A hundred feet up, they’re working
black figures on green steeple,
in air that stings my eyes when I
get out, looking up the white hill.
From some lower level Joe shouts up,
You want a donut too?

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