"Different in nature,
Hands not made for surgery.
The medicine seeps out,
My words are just rare, you see.

The lyrical tragedy, a little messy,
But you still crave, you need,
A song of calamity.

Hear the sequence, the free flow,
Structure feeding a knee blow.
Never ceding, hear my mind crow,

A loud, painful sound, aching,
Breaking but rebuilding.
To find the cure, turmoil, madness."
© K_The_Lyricist