The Paper

All ideas, come out of my head,
And go straight onto the paper.
The paper that I hold onto tight,
So that I can read it later.

(All ideas, come out of my head,
And make me feel insane,
All ideas, come out of my head,
My cutting is a shame..)

(Straight onto the paper,
Drips all the blood I bled,
From which I felt so relieved,
After what It was I read.)

(The paper that I hold onto tight,
To remind me of my past,
The paper that I hold on tight,
Because ideas never last.)

(Later it is,
I'm reading the paper,
And I gently slit my throat.
Later it is,
I'm reading the paper,
My life ends on what I wrote.)