Steampunk Street
The warranty had expired on my broken heart
When I tried to take it back; it was falling all apart
The girl in the window smiled ferociously and said
'You can't expect me to accept a heart that's half dead'
As I turned I heard her laughter after my pathetic sight
I know she couldn't help herself but still it wasn't right
I had a great capacity once; inside of that machine
To carry love across the world and through all I'd seen
I went walking on some broken glass over the remains of the past
where a house fell down all around my first and last;
From that first spring when my heart would sing a solemn lullaby
until that final winter when I heard that last goodbye
In the field not far I found a tinker talking all alone
She saw my heart and then waved me over to her little home
Handing me a card and introducing herself she did say
'Why don't you bring that junk and stop by my store someday?'
I pondered what to do and for days I shuffled my wandering feet
until I found myself at her store on Steampunk Street
She was not too busy to stop her work and eye me up and down
while I looked in awe at all the pieces I saw lying around
Holding out her hand and standing in expectation
I slowly gave her my heart with a great reservation
She smiled and then got serious and put my heart in a clamp
She tightened until I felt it pinch and I winced at the cramp
For hours upon minutes and for day after dark
she tinkered and she tampered and was tearing me apart
I could only stare in horror realizing how numb I had become
and watching each chamber replaced until her work was done
Lying in recovery with my steampunk tinker medic
I no longer felt the heart pangs; just a throbbing headache
She kissed me on the cheek and said with an apologetic smirk
'Well we're done now and it's time to get back to work.'
I stood and thanked her as I tiptoed out her door
Everything felt a thousand times better than before
My bandaged chest and blurry vision healed up that very week
but sometimes my rebuilt heart still has a stubborn squeak.
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