The Man of Clay

I wish your remorse would show,
(but how could it, if you have no soul)

I wish I could make you miss me,
– the kind of missing that cuts to the bone
(But longing is something you’ve never known)

I wish I could make you feel
(But how can feelings live inside a vacuum, sealed?)

I wish your true nature could be shown
– to all your little “friends”, so you’d be alone
(But you are king of chameleons, on a fool’s gold throne)

I wish you’d take back a tenth of the pain you handed out
(But you are a child, who was never taught wrong from right)

I wish your skin wasn’t impenetrable, I wish you were alive
(But you only live through admiration, otherwise you’re gray)

I wish I could make you bleed
– the way I bled, after all your deeds
(But blood won’t be found inside a statue, will it, o say,
Man of Clay?)