When you are far from here,
The gears and cogs that make me tick,
Whir that bit slower,
Grind to a halt and lock,
In patterns of behaviour,
And modes of thinking,
Like a clockwork soldier,
That lumbers on,
With missing parts,

You are my heart.

So bring back your key,
To wind me tight,
I'm more than metal gears,
But less than perfect,
Without you.


Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.