I am not a razor blade. I am the sap in the twigs of the Yggdrasil, the essence of creation. I am a sensation, felt by those troubled hearts that long for the *****. I am a windowsill. I am the iron will of those who form our silent nation. I am the soft parade. But I am not a razor blade.
I am not the blood that taints the ground where family members fell. I am not the coal that fuels the fire. I am not a sense of ire, corrupting the minds of all around. I am not the gates of hell. I am not a victory bell, whose ring announces raw desire. I am not a snarling hound, and I am not a razor blade.