Clockwork ticker, beating pulse
It lives and loves on wild impulse
Shiver and shake like feverish imps
If you look inside and take a glimpse
Romanticism is just an illusion
To a heart that beats confusion

Mechanical wonder but oh, so cold
The wheels and cogs in brass and gold
Manipulate the ghost in the machine
Ignored and loathed like something obscene
Tarnished and tattered by time and misuse
A strange device suffered decades of abuse
Mechanical lungs, screwed in ribs like art
All of them hiding my Steampunk heart

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