Worded Life
For every cut that words can make
I see the colour of my soul,
I see the paths that I must take
And hear the dread bell toll,
If life is one big movement,
Where am I to stand?
On the brink of improvement,
Or just another scattered grain of sand?
I want to hear the song
That nature used to sing
I need to know where I belong
And where the noose will swing,
For the memory of times never to be
I offer only what I can in sacrifice,
A battered beating heart, debris,
And an icy gaze of one whose paid a price,
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