My razors are trained to mark a surface Every time I fall it forces me to punish my skin Remorse has proved to be a sadist And I don`t care at all if people see the shape I am in
Day by Day another conflict causes to cut the flesh And if these wounds fail to show the truth I got to cut even deeper
The scars are true art of expression Signs of tragedy With no doubt sick -but keeping alive My way to let out all aggression A different therapy Possible with the blade of a knife
But I can`t find my soul . . .
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