The Tin Man

Crows circle above

As I trade the tin man ,for whisky and a light.

An Eastwood film , I ride through the night.

The men are dead here

Eyes have no form

Hearts- Gone.

I never belonged in such a place.

A canvas painted amongst such storms.

 

I wrote Broadway

Couldn’t perform

Puppets on strings

I hate Pinocchio.

Tell me where to ride too

Where the land isn’t quite so cold

Tell me where to fly too

Where the truth is told.

Tell me.

As I search beyond this lantern

Filled with sand.

Falling through your mad hands.