We all have scars the world can see
Cuts and bleeds and bruises dark
Tell me, what's become of them
Healed away, sealed tightly shut

The truer ones are those beneath
Slowly eating at the heart
Open yet and bleeding still
A glancing blow, a trickling kill

The scar in me is yet unformed
Love to hurt to be transformed
Your spear it's mark has found, it's true
A fatal wound, of that, be sure

I have no doctor, far from help
Not sure Your heart shall ever melt
I'm willing, look you in the eyes
And oh so slowly my world dies...