My paper hands do much too harm
On this sheet that is full of ink
My detergent soul don't ease the pain
That is crowding in this sink
My empty bed dont make no sounds
When she is singing tunes from back in the day
My seven inch sin vessel is riding through
And the void is what is making it bray
My scissor mind, it ceases to breathe
When the paper, it wants to cut in
My dirt filled transperent gleam
Is what i use when i am feeling the pain
My damaged heartache never learns to die
When i am only looking for a kill
My wingless passion is not looking to fly
And the birds are now building a cage
My rock that has been flung
Is now one with the tsunami
The paper tries, the scissor dies
Cries out for a world that is not free
Her empty hands make me shiver
She sits silent through the guillotine
Curse or prayer or spell or bribe
No, that will never ever enchant me
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