He's Got a hundred silent home-made Scars
Running around his hollow plastic arms
If only somebody, anybody, would understand him.
The sight of his blood helps him to calm down
Silently he cry's inside his Lonely Frozen Shell
Tears of pure crimson whine weeping down it's sides
The only thing that is smiling for him
Is the fake grinning clown mask he has made
One Moor Cut, Just moor and he will be fine
Nothings going to change him know
Nothings going to change . . .

One moor Cut
Watch yourself bleed
Is this you?
One moor time,
Throw up and be freed
Is this you?
One Moor Cut,
One Moor Time,
Is this you,
Is this really you?

She's just got a million crushing problems
Running around in her insecure head
If only somebody, anybody, would understand her.
Sticking her fingers down her cum drenched throat
Lurching strate down into Oblivion once again
Throwing up to make her feel better about her self
The Only thing that is smiling for her
Is the fake grinning slut mask she has made
One moor time, just one moor and she will be fine
Nothings going to change her know
Nothings going to change . . .

All we need,
All we ever needed
Was some one to talk to
But when ever we looked
All we found was a reflection
Of what we had turned into inside
All we found was our burning masks.
A distorted and disturbing portrait of our
Innocent childhood self's . . .

Is that you in the mirror?
Is that really you . . .




Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Lupar, in the year 271 AF.