Like a porcelain cowboy. A cheap little fake
His stoic expression, so easy to break
He's a sentinel's silence, alone on his perch
The land he surveils, he can't even search
He thinks he's a hero 'cause he's shaped like a kero
But he's trapped in the coffin of his own rigid form
He wants to protect you, but he's just an object
Little porcelain cowboy, just wants to be warm
Like a porcelain cowboy, his stillness a curse
His miracle sentience is all for the worse
If he summons the lighting from which all life spits
He'll fall from his outpost and shatter to bits
And in his undoing his pieces take notice
Denied their assembly, they suffer the Hell
Of disintegration, the worst non-existence
Little porcelain cowboy cannot suffer well
Like a porcelain cowboy, his soul mass-produced
For every one broken, two more have their youth
And a similar crisis, repeats and expands
The answer escaping their porcelain hands