Iron in the Cove

I am not a play thing for you to toss and throw away.
I am not a trophy to be put up on display.
Now I feel the locomotion of gears grinding through emotions
and I don't know how to feel that I know that you won't stay.

I hate the lyrics of the song, but loved the melody,
'till the bitter bites of solitude come wake me from the dream.
Blankly I'll sit there hummin', when the mind wanders astray
and it all comes back and thrashes me as I rattle on my cage.

The notes they seemed to carry me, the wind on angels' wings.
Each gust a breath to lungs that filled, for which the moment sings.
Now the branches all stopped shaking, no leaves spin, twist, and twirl
the waves they tried to drown me, though they never seemed to curl. 

Beat and bashed and bloodied back to the salty ocean cove,
gasping, groping gushing moments clinging to some hope.
The water cannot take me lord if I remember just to swim,
the thoughts cannot consume me if I remember what has been.

Driving down this lonesome road till the dashes turn to dust,
paint it still dries faster than the iron turns to rust.
The horizon's warmth is coming. I will do just what I must.
Paint it still dries faster than the iron turns to rust.