There's a place on the back of my neck
Where I still feel the axe
There's a part of my legs
That is always warm
In memory of the flames
And marks on my chest
Where the arrows passed
Through several exit wounds
That still itch and must be scratched
And a lot of internal damage
From twice being buried alive
Yet somehow my body my friend
Keeps coming back for more
And somehow my heart survives
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