Tin Man

There's rust in his marrow eating his bones;
The clinking and clanking of metal all grown. 

A copper conundrum sits upon his skull.
His eyes are silver, metallic and dull. 

Two-pistoled Tin Man wearing two feathers;
Red-dusted rawhide and beaten down leathers.

Red coil for muscles twisting past gears;
An aluminium Stetson sits above cold ears.

Steam-powered cowboy collecting fine dust;
Golden cigars made with black nicotine trust. 

Bronze-booted puppet adorned with bronze bullets;
Tight-jointed trigger finger, can't seem to pull it. 

But his teeth are pearls and his heart's made of jade;
Of metal our Tin Man's not completely made.