Hey, Mister Tinman,
You rusty bastard's son.
What made you do what you have done?
Dorothy wasn't your 10 dollar whore,
But now her body lay raped with gore.
Blood strewn about the yellow brick road.
Upon her corpse your stagnant, toxic load.
Lion crawling towards a corner,
Victims of a pedophile.
Scarecrow's ashes and embers lay
In a perfect pile.
Hey Mister Tinman, wandering in the dark...
Hey Mister Tinman, YOU HAVE NO FUCKING HEART!
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An interpretation I never would have considered, but you know, you're right, he had no heart! You took an idea and ran with it - sadness in these lines, Bernadette, very well penned.
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(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.