I’d fit each hurt on the head of one pin,
each misdeed and every sin so that
I’d make a suit of armor. Wearing my anguish
as a charmer I’d shine so bright
no one could dim my light. If someone
so kind was to pull out one of
my pins I wouldn’t notice at all, wearing
armor six feet tall. Even if they pulled out more
this suit of pain would still endure. It took
years to make, year and years of fears
and mistakes. There’s a different pin for
everything. One for rue, one for discord, one
for the people I abhor. There’s envy, lies
and disgust. The battle cries are far too
much. The cuts, the bleeds the Shangri-La’s
where I smoked the stoked cigars from so called
friends and lovers that stuck their pins
inside this vat. Yes! This heart is now
a cask. But it has been preserved on all the
hard liquor I filled it with, ***** and chicks
and fiddlesticks.