The Truth to a Broken Man
What is a man?
But a figure of steel.
Strength of a mountain,
With rough hardy feel.
He never smiles,
Even when you’re around.
And when he laughs,
He makes not a sound.
Does he mean it?
Can he not speak?
Maybe inside,
He just needs a little tweak.
Buttons pressed,
Soon the cogs might turn.
Eventually he is broken,
And his trust you will earn.
He makes a sound,
His foot steps towards grace.
Soon of lightened steel,
The head of the human race.
What makes a man?
But the ballade he sings.
The quake of the earth,
And the bell of war that rings.
His sound is not joyous,
Even to the happiest tune.
Every tap of his foot,
To the ground a tad too soon.
Is this one deaf?
Can he not hear?
Maybe another touch,
So his soul may then sear.
Back to pieces,
To be fixed again.
Another screw tightened,
And maybe just then,
He takes a breath,
And sings a new song.
But it doesn’t sound right.
Great! What could be wrong?
Broken down again,
Your voice tears him apart.
Then to your surprise,
A soft golden heart.
Replaced by stone,
As cold as ice in vein.
He grabs hold of his chest now,
And acts d*mn near insane.
What makes a man?
But what you want him to be.
And under that dead smile,
Falls the tear you can not see.
He wasn’t good enough,
He knew this to be true.
Whats wrong with this man?
It was never him,
But the heart he had for you.
