And If There Is No God? You

In A Perverse Way, I Was Glad For The Stitches, Glad It Would Show, That There Would Be Scars. What Was The Point In Just Being Hurt On The Inside? It Should Bloody Well Show.

Without My Wounds, Who Was I? My Scars Were My Face, My Past Was My Life.

Although She Was Giddy With Exhaustion, Sleep Was A Lover Who Refused To Be Touched.

No Matter Where I Was, My Compass Pointed West. I Would Always Know What Time It Was In California.

I Could Hear The Icy Winds Of Sweden, But He Didn't Seem To Feel The Chill.