Steely eyes and metal thighs
With a heart that has no rue,
Her lips on the anvil formed,
For love there was no room;
Only rust will kiss her lips,
And never our death she'll die;
Nor never will she be forlorn,
And never a tear she'll cry,
For in her heart's a thorn
That she is of metal borne
With steel eyes and metal thighs
And a heart that has no rue.
--Bill S., Adult