Mine Is Depraved.
What can save me from this desolate road I'm beginning to weave?
Maybe acceptance of pain and a touch of greed.
Pack my bags and say "Forget the Rest."
But I jest. . .
Because it's from the Rest that I see I am blessed
What a mess.
Take off your shirt and turn around, let me see that knife wound.
Even though mine is still throbbing, and I got it from you.
Humility dies at the hands of a friend
Here's some Band-Aids Chief, your cuts, you mend.
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