You’re a broke down engine, no spare parts,
who will fix you now your engine doesn’t start;
your veins they have seized, your blood has turned sour,
all alone, your the prey, for the elements to devour.
That lonesome hour an age ago,
left in a crooked world no one knows,
once loved and cherished now left for dead,
you now rest wearily on an untender bed.
Your skin has flaked, your inners have torn,
the lock that drives your heart has worn,
its key now driven into the ground, by the vines of time,
that tangle around your spine.
Your tread has gone now your rust it shows,
will you ever again feel that friction below,
as you weaved and turned like a shooting star,
the wind at your back as you ventured afar.
Somewhere Within lies this beast that once roared,
with a spirit alive like an eagle you soared
and deep within cries a spark, like an ember dying in the night,
desperate to keep your life and drive alight.
Poor broke down engine may your lover find you,
so you can discover new horizons to seek and pursue.