Scrapyard of Dreams

Oh I'll make my metal croak and creak, As it rusts And rots - Powdered orange dust For as a child I wished to water A garden of vines and blooming trees. And now I remember My dreams geared to grow - A magnificent forest before society saw. And see they did, and seize it too, And cease my heart from wishing true. So now my 'perfect' scientific arms And 'perfect' brain And 'perfect' legs to march Stores all my love Under steel-plated skin - Thick and hard to fake the merry mirth. But tears I cry into this can of mine, To water only the scrapyard of dreams, And may it grasp and may it curl May it feel beyond my robotic means. And may it twist and may it unfurl May it heal beyond my robotic seams.