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 . . .
