It may really work by lightning
But today I feel the cogs grinding
The rust-spotty gears go round,
My mind revolving with a groaning sound.

A kids' push-and-jump-on
Rickety, heavy merry-go-round
Losing momentum
Dropping off before I reach home.

It's dark and murky with oil,
Loose wires ramble and coil
There's a short waiting to happen
And the bulb's flickering out again.

Cut the whir and dull roar,
Clear the air, open the door
Let the sunshine inside
My almost-functional steam-engine mind