Today I wrote you my own song,
It’s not one that I’ll sing aloud.
I tried to be completely honest,
But I don’t think you’ll be proud

The lyrics aren’t written down
In any legible fashion.
I keep them on my arms and legs
And add to them with passion.

I don’t think it will ever be complete,
I’m always adding more,
But one day I hope my song will end
And this practice I will abhor.

When singing thus I pour my heart
Onto my body and my soul.
And yet I fear that someday
I will soon pay the toll.

do not want to see these words
On my arms and not in my head,
For marks on skin are hard to read
These lyrics, dripping red.