My heart beats just for you,

Inside this sullen mass,

This half empty woven basket,

Filled with gears and busted glass.

My mind thinks just for you,

Upon its single track,

Trained and honed by steadfast practice,

Strains behind my plastic mask.

A clock-work man with wheels spinning,

In a tightly sealed black box,

Can’t process others’ grinning,

Watch him crash, his mind a loss.

Black box tell us: what’s the cause?

My ears hear just for you,

Through fluid empty space,

Your voice like a wolf pacing,

Howls in a deserted place.

My eyes see just for you,

Within their ice cold lids,

Tears fill to overflowing,

Thinking of my ghostly kids.

The clock-work man keeps working,

In a tightly sealed black box,

Can’t process others’ sinning,

Watch him burn, his mind a loss.

Black box tell us: what’s the cause?

My hands work just for you,

Sore and to the bone,

A low persistent moaning,

Constant effort, constant drone.