With a machine heart in your chest,
The life of the spirit knows no rest,
Substituting love, with work and fuel~
Isn’t the world getting more cruel??
With mechanics ruling,
we have spoiled what was simple and pure,
And simplicity lost has no cure,
No time to heal, no time to feel,
Hasn’t advancement cost all of us
a heavy deal?
A heart made of metal
So I don’t have to feel.
A heart that’s as cold
As pure steel.
All the gears work,
A little too well.
For I love so much
My life is a living hell.
I oil this heart of mine
With a love that’s pure
But no love ever comes back
No one loves me,
of this, I’m sure.
The oil of love
To smoothen the creaking part
For the machinery called my heart
It could take all you can give.
The only question though,
Should the love come from outside?
And risk being taken for a ride.
It would really help, if I know.
The heart and its mechanics,
Have baffled true romantics.
Beyond all semantics.
Fuel it with the Love elixir.
Nothing else works, Sir!
Find the one that fuels your heart
and makes your gears turn.
Only then will you know
that you have found true love.
My heart is not a machine.
Love keeps my motor running.
A drop of love,
fills my heart.
Just add love and see how this heart beats
My heart is a well oiled machine from years of love and aching, yet strong enough to still love more.
Seizure not possible, when love is the oil that keeps this heart beating.
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