We Sometimes Exist as Our Scars

Too late man

Put your head in a bag

Look so fucking sad

Rap knuckles on slabs

Till bled-on-birth

Are forced words

Trade places

The earth

Soldiers of fortune

The cursed

To walk alone

I hate

How little

It compares to first

It never ends

How it starts

Or how it makes

Stars fixed

A front row of whores

A wish

A claim to live

A life worth having

Too late man

Too fucking bad

Fog the marks

Fire for sights

We row for all

We get around

We fight her ground

For liberty

Of course

Just be there

A natural-born pugilist

For all of us

She cuts wrists

Cuts in wood

The blood-fill

I regress

In my steps

Thick of deed

Word of mouth

All of us

Our disease

We just live

We just are

Not for lack of trying

We sometimes exist

As our scars

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