Cutting Tool

Is there a way to speak of this? Is there a thing that can be known? Some form that can be met or left? Disgust: discuss Because they were born to their places and grew there They should thrive on oxygen pumped into them But they don't, they just shine in their juice Oh, I must find my cutting tool Lead me astray then take me home I've been all brown or black or green Awash with air, amok with mud It's all in error Gassy and sour, oh, they won't be forgotten They sit self-appraising, self-serving, self-loathing I have no more use for them, let me be rid Fetch my cutting tool And now I could have more to say But this mistake must be my way I've learned in terms that pass away They must be gone Walk through that door at this moment, you'll find me A bloody thing slumped in this chair, held together By thin, mucous membrane and sore, oh, so sore With my cutting tool