Lonesome Cuttter
THERE ARE SCARS ON THE FLESH
SOME RUN ALMOST TO THE BONE
AS IF IT WAS ITS OWN POEM
THEY CRISS CROSS THEY ZIGZAG
THEY HAVE NAGED AT THE BRAIN
THEY RUN BIG AN SMALL
THEY DON'T HAVE A DESIGNANTED
SPOT OF SHADE THEY RUN
ALL OVER THE PLACE
THE SCARS HAVE RUN
RED FULL OF BLOOD THEY SHED
AS THE SHARP TEETHED SHED OF
METAL COMES DOWN ON HER ONCE
AGIAN
SHE SITS IN HER ROOM AND
CRIES
WONDERS HOW SHE CAN STOP
WILL IT EVER GO AWAY
DOES THIS FADE?
ONE MORE BLADE OF SHARP TEETH RIP THROUGH THE FLESH
IT ALL STARTED BACK THEN....
SATISFACTION SMILE OF ANOTHER CUT TO WATCH....
SOME RUN ALMOST TO THE BONE
AS IF IT WAS ITS OWN POEM
THEY CRISS CROSS THEY ZIGZAG
THEY HAVE NAGED AT THE BRAIN
THEY RUN BIG AN SMALL
THEY DON'T HAVE A DESIGNANTED
SPOT OF SHADE THEY RUN
ALL OVER THE PLACE
THE SCARS HAVE RUN
RED FULL OF BLOOD THEY SHED
AS THE SHARP TEETHED SHED OF
METAL COMES DOWN ON HER ONCE
AGIAN
SHE SITS IN HER ROOM AND
CRIES
WONDERS HOW SHE CAN STOP
WILL IT EVER GO AWAY
DOES THIS FADE?
ONE MORE BLADE OF SHARP TEETH RIP THROUGH THE FLESH
IT ALL STARTED BACK THEN....
SATISFACTION SMILE OF ANOTHER CUT TO WATCH....