Yesterday I loathed myself with such an awful fear.
I cut off my hands to cause my deeds to disappear.
And what I thought I read hurts more than it ever did.
All these phantom pains of some lost past.
Things I used to want that did not last.
Urges I've concocted, eats in vain.
All it left me with is phantom pain.
Fingers are like gel,
see they scratch and pull and knead.
Hands can never listen,
they do not reflect nor heal.
And these pains that I feel are for things that are not real.
All these phantom pains of some lost past.
Things I used to want that did not last.
Urges I've concocted, eats in vain.
things I used to want that did not last.
Urges I've concocted,
eats in vain.
All it left me with is phantom pain.
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