Мы растём из железа - We Grow Out of Iron

Look! - Here I stand among them:
furnaces, hammers, machines, cupolae, forges -
with a hundred of my companions.
Above me lies a wrought iron expanse.
On the sides there are beams and iron brackets.
They go up to eighty feet.
Their tips bend sideways.
They are connected by rafters in the domes and, like a giant's shoulders, they hold the entire iron structure.
They are headlong, strong and swinging.
They require an even greater force.
I straighten myself up when I see them.
A new, iron blood flows into my veins.
I have grown even more.
I myself have developed steel shoulders and immeasurably strong arms.
I have merged with the iron structure.
I lift myself up.
I push up the rafters, the upper beams, the roof with my shoulders.
My feet are still on the ground, yet my head is above the building.
I am still breathless from these inhuman efforts, but am already crying:
- I request a word, just one word, comrades!
An iron echo has covered up my words, the whole structure is trembling with impatience.
Yet I raise myself even higher, I am now level with the chimneys.
What comes out of my lungs does not sound as a speech, or a narrative,
it is a single iron shout:
"We will win!"