Ascending on my arms,
Travelling from the dust to padded metal up on high,
My knuckles white on palest bars,
And I pull with heated breath,
Fire from my arms you see,
Molten magma glowing down,
Flowing through my shoulders stiff,
Pooling in my lungs to seethe,
Before it bubbles out in rage,
Out in heated breath forgotten,
And I shall ascend on steam punk arms,
That grow less weary by the day,
As they pull me up again.