My heart to all has become a machine,
Calculating, cold, and meticulously clean.
Rust will never find its way in the cogs,
Without emotion, I can see through the fog
That holds us back in front of what we want,
Adoration’s a myth, not a ghost that will haunt.
No longer shall harpies hold onto my heart,
My affection for them must now cease to start.
Most of all, I’ll not feel the pain of something that breaks,
With my love rendered useless, it may be burned at the stake.
I don’t want or need the kind words that you say,
I just want the solitude of the grave where I’m laid.