Once, I yearned for this gift
Made from tin, cold and unfeeling,
How could I not yearn for this pulsating *****
Warm and full of life

That breathes colours and sound to the pictures in my mind and the music in my soul
The final piece to make this tin man whole

O wizard, what foolhardy creation have I sought?
This wondrous yet dreadful lump of flesh
A living repository of despair
Of trembling hands
Of stuttered words
And of gasping breaths

O wizard, what misery your magic has brought
An ***** so frail and weak
Given to fanciful imagination
Chained to wanton desire and emotion
Swayed by what-ifs and pained by forget-me-mots

O Wizard, take from me that which you have wrought
Give me back the hollow comfort of metal
Of the cold void, quiet, unfeeling and unchanging
Make me what I was always meant to be.
A tin man through and true.