Should I operate
On my own wounds?
I don’t cooperate
This ain’t no game
And even if it was
I only play on
Single player anyway

As I slice the skin
Layer by layer
It starts sink in
Through an otherwise
Impermeable surface
I let out whimpers and cries
My blood pressure seems
To stumble and rise
Pray that my mortal body
Never crumbles and dies
Though we all know
Deep down within
We must meet our end
And eventually succumb
To endure our collective sin

We don’t live
For centuries as sentries
But does that put
The souls of the innocent
At ease?
Maybe if they begged
Or said “pretty please?”
How would we treat them then?
With an act of compassion
Using the art of zen?
Probably not
So I ask when?

If you couldn’t see
I’m an amateur
At this kinda gig
For my aperture
Short sighted and thick
Call it “crapeture”
For all I see is shit
Just look around ya
Take in the smell
Its just about strong enough
To give you a hit
Isn’t it?