These bones feel hollow

The wind blows through my chest

This suit of armor is supposed to protect

But in it, it is hard to rest

The breeze whistles through my helmet

Is it in there, I wonder?

I hid it long ago,

When I had torn it asunder

Neath plates of metal

I hid it away, lest it be torn apart

But I really wonder if its there now,

A tin man, with no heart.