I have all my fingers,
The knife goes chop, chop, chop.

There's nothing poetic about the life I lead,
With feet like lead I tread and
Tread through halls of dread.

If I hit my fingers
My fingers will come off.

I trod and trod and trod,
Life is monotony and
The grind is ******.

If I hit my fingers
The blood will soon come out.

The world keeps whipping,
There is no relief and
Man is the thief.

But all the same we play this game,
That's what it's all about.

The priest keeps preaching,
The room spins, spins, spins and
I writhe in ecstasy with my sins.

You may not use a pen,
The only way is with a knife when
Danger is your friend.