A mill cannot turn with water that has passed

The turbine turned until the year I was born.  It's still in place two floors beneath me; a monstrous wheel which revolved with the force of the water, attached to leather belts.  
We're 50 years too late to hear the sound the mechanics of this place must have made.  The people who worked here are long and often prematurely dead; often in their 50's, lung cancer from the husk and flour dust and working beneath the wheels.  The little terrace of houses at the end of the street was where they lived and where I also lived until three months ago.  We teeter on the edge of this industrial building and encroach on the bits that don't seem ours to take.
Floor bards will soon cover these gaps and they'll be lost.
Here they are, in all their industrial beauty.  We will stop there.