Original Cuts Poem by David Welch

They don't see the way I stare at them,
my eyes red, wide with hate,
my tolerance has built up slow,
skin is thicker then they know.

Can't forgive the things they did to you,
can't forget that circus show-trial.
They say ‘society' made them so,
guilt the jury to let them go.

I remember how you used to smile,
and how you used to laugh…
until they broke you dead inside,
until that day your dreams did die.

The pain sets deep,
it hurts so much,
but it's not as bad
as the original cuts.
With such evil,
I'd have no truck,
but I'll make them pay
for the original cuts.

I tracked them down and found their homes,
where they ‘didn't do nothing wrong.'
I've found the three who corned you,
who did things that no man would do.

They think they've got me, three-to-one
but I see an even draw,
fueled by visions etched in red
of them holding you to that bed.

They laugh, call me a stupid fool,
to come down here late at night,
my blade comes out, there's no more grin,
I'll show them the wages of sin!

The knife goes deep
it hurts so much,
but it's not as bad,
as the original cuts.
They plead and cry,
they're out of luck.
I must make them pay
for the original cuts.