Diggin in the crates 5..
 

Where to begin -the blades, that are burried within
Acupuncture, various pins, through layers of my skin
The Memorabilia, from a friendship, that never exist
I keep a scar, show and tell, heres to sharing a glimpse
1 or 2, where the friends ive called family have hit
Well placed, damaging, the more embarrassing shit
I dont care to admit, all the times ive trusted before
Blood and sweat, down my back, turn to rust on the floor
Pocket knives, switch blades, got me once with a sword
Still i stand, monument, until my purpose complete..
Perfect parralells, handles held, at the surface of me
Ive certainly seen, a life filled with treacherous traits
The mental aspect, as painful as an entering blade
Intellectual strain, why the fuck you do me so wrong
We were brothers before, now your nothing to me at all
Kept the ginsu, that you ran through me, preserved..
On display, until i find someone it truly deserves
I dont fully converse, with any other humans today
The art of treason, thats a picture i dont usually paint
The brush stroking, beautiful pain, but who is to blame
Black, white and grey, brutal, subject you to the same
The Ku Klux of rage, lacerate -fade, Krew cut brigade
Its all fun and games, til someone starts to lose DNA
Sit there and dont move, do it!, you are my bitch!!!
Screaming at the mirror, he rehearsed his usual script
Cause who has the grit, its hard to approach who you want
He spends hours in his reflection, and still doesnt show up
Hes a punk, so his problems all splash on the canvas..
Paints his troubled life away, that fans love to examine

-Genocide.

this was live.