Honed like a straight razor on a stone,

I’m forged in the fire of life alone.


From the chemical comfort of this womb I’m torn.


Thrust into life – cold as black ice,

just as big a hazard as I can devise.

All the shit I’ve had to deal with,

don’t matter how far down I go,

I still feel it.

The pain is so good I need it,

it’s the life that kills me – I love it.

So I push through another resurrection,

a trial by fire that’s mine.

Face to face with my reflection,

through the hell in my mind.


Killing myself – yeah, the world cannot touch,

my love – desire – inspiration – trust.

Force the death of my useless extremities,

instigate change – ’cause this shit’s all the same to me.

Keep going in this vicious cycle.

Rebirth – don’t remain the same

as all these other fucks.


I kill myself.



Everyone’s living with a little dead flesh,

burn it away, cut away – and what’s left

comes through the fire, your true desires.

Real life follows every little death.


Cleansed by the storm – Reborn.

Funeral fire’s warm – Reborn.

From the chemical comfort of this womb I’m torn.




HG – 2000-2005

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