It's easy for you to speak
Because your black eyes always hold to what they seek.
You count off on your golden fingers in lists what you want,
And I tell you it's me who's as bland as pale typewriter font.
I can't just unzip the skin between my *******
And hand you the bleeding heart in my chest.
For that place has been soldered shut,
And the only way in is to cut.
It was my tethered hands that painfully made the seal-
Everyone mistakenly thought there was a piece of me to steal.  
I realized with broken car radios and muted clocks I only had what was inside,
And no treasure cats smile could ever paper cut this pride.
Your hands were made from the Sun,
Who made my battlefield and won.
And one day you will touch me and I will burn,
But you'll be too bound to your creator to ever return.