How could I be wrong?
Am I not the puppeteer of my many faces?
Do I not control my thoughts?
I order my bones to grow steal and it’s my breath that they obey
How could I be wrong?
But my hands start to tremble as the faceless man cuts deep in my arms and leaves me drowning in my mimd
I yell for him to stop, to stop marching me down this black corridor
Don’t be dramatic! Far worse steps have been march down this hall
How could I be right?
If my brain does not obey me, and it is someone else's voice my body follows
Im left here with the faceless man, and then I
Suddenly realize
My cuts where never made by
someone else’s hand