Even though they're faded
(Along with the thoughts)
My left arm,
The one that has seen too much rusted silver,
Countless tears of crimson streams,
Always seems to be
Just that little bit heavier.

But whether that's the weight on my mind
Or the extra weight of torn skin;
Having to drag it around -
Like everything was once OK -
Is a 'simple task'
That's pulling me down.
                                                      ( K R W)