One hoped they'd break the patent when they die cast me in stride. A simple steel specimen, truly empty down inside. With copper-core wound veins, a pumping cold hydraulic heart.
Your gross fabrication of pretext could bore. Yet still I fall victim to syntax omitted. Just shy of something I could understand. . So blissful, I press on to the sound of the organs.
Look alive gentleman. Or fake your death. Tour wounds undressed beneath your costumes. Some are so well rehearsed. For hearses it hurts. Always the first to wave the white flag.