My Machinery

At the edge of the woods Among the brush I left my machines at home I leave, in my skin, the pus Can't puncture the wound Can't bring myself to the outside So into the wood I'm consumed My machinery is what I crave My machinery is what I need To make a path and walk away To make a path and become free I left my machines at home But I have my knowledge with me And I'll need it all at the least I left my machines at home But there is one I cannot let go