If all scars were purple
And all bruises red
And we could pour out
All the pain in our heads
If people were rabbits
And rabbits were dead
And all scars were purple
And all bruises red –
Would people be purple?
Would rabbits be dead?
Is it bruises that kill us,
Or scars to the head?
What is it that tortures us,
Leaves us all writhing?
What makes us stop living
And start just surviving?
What monster pursues us –
What ghastly condition?
The one deep within us;
The sick apparition.
This torturous bubble
From deep in our heart
Wells up, overwhelms us
And tears us apart.