| Written: 12:10 AM March 8. 2004 Walking among the abnormal front Worn out paths, born for the hunt Scent of the warm, fresh human skin Be founder of the world, and all of the men The train�s headlight shines in thou�s eyes Tied down across the tracks, no surprise Wondering what ideas come to your mind Or anyone else�s, who may come to find The liquid in my veins, crushed from my being Not knowing what to do, nothing foreseeing Broken and tattered, breathing no more The soul has been freed, walked through the door Gifts to be given, to those with white hearts Diamonds and gold, and more other parts Letters in the mailbox, all written in print Not one with a nickel, dime, or cent |
| Trains to My Veins |
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