Our father, who art in the workshop,

Hallowed be thy frame.

They deliveries come,

Thy shelves be hung

As level as they were in the store display.

Give us this day our bottle of glue,

And forgive us our mismeasures,

As we forgive those who measure once.

Lead us not into laceration,

But deliver us from table saws.

For thine is the workshop,

And the power tools,

And the clamps,

Forever and ever,

Or until the warranty runs out,


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