Knives and blades all the same
One slash, two slashes, three slashes your all up in flames
Eager to hunt, eager to kill
One push into the rain, I start to become ill
These cuts that bind my wrist do me no good
As I wonder in deep thought 'will I suceed? '
I ask you to save me even though I knew you would
But will I follow thy's edvice or will I flee?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have such a different view of bound wrists that initially, my own view imposed on and frustrated the words of this poem. But as I stepped out and tried to read it fresh, I began to enjoy and appreciate its words on their own right. Peace, L&T