Lacerations from Martial Law by Gator King

External lacerations have been stapled shut.
But those within won't heal.

Eight shallow days, seven gashes to the bone.
Six years and counting to take it all in.

Rock bottom with a razor held to your wrist, are you feeling desperate yet?
Overcome with the sinking feeling of regret, are you feeling desperate yet?

Five eternities of transit, four faces wore defeat.
Three bloody miles forever gray.

If the day ever came where I could no longer rationalize my pain (are you feeling desperate yet?)
No one would be safe.
Long after this counted, we finally would feel the same. (Are you feeling desperate yet?)

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