Iron lords are heavy
Not of just heart
Heavy handed, pete townshend, who are you
The whole 9 yards
Dressed to the nines
Iron bars secure
My iron lord
Glides the metal ghost
On metal tracks

Savor your true heart
Lest it be replaced
By the beam of some structure
A bullet or brace
A bolt or a brandish
A **** or a ball
A chain or a chainsaw
The richest of all

Iron lords adorned
With beads of iron truth
Against living flesh it feels cold
And the room
Buckles in
Like the edge of your death
And pulls through
And leaves you on the other side
With nothing to feel
And open nerve endings

When the truth is iron
It can be blunt or sharp
But keep it away from your ever-loving heart
Or just move to Holland
To the lovely fields of flowers
And stay away from the poppies
Skirt around that graveyard