Gave my helmet to Rhodey With loose circuitry Said, “I can’t be Shellhead Would you do it, please?” He put on the armor, gave Magma what-for Forgive the few windows he made into doors Kept warm in the Bowery burning Ayn Rand almost killed by irony: death by Firebrand With advice from Morley, Jim did pretty well Until those damn headaches gave poor Rhodey hell I love Indries Moomji But met her disdain Too late found the Chess King: Obadiah Stane I built my own armor from a box of spare parts It helped me quit drinkin’, those ‘lectronic arts Confronted the Bad Guy At trillionaire's cost I did save the baby But somebody lost.