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  • picking up the pieces
    icl
    31 Jan 2003

    i'm picking up the pieces.
    a blast has just ripped through
    walls, flesh, blood and organs
    an eye ball rolling on the floor

    blood spattered black and red
    painting the walls and ceiling
    not a single face looks sad
    every heart still a'beating

    my face turns far away
    no one notices my departure
    my mind still sees the foray
    my heart still in torture

    is that a heart on the floor i see
    her's or mine
    it can't be hers i'm sure
    'tis still warm and not of stone