The seventeen years have brought me no life
nothing from anything just wasted time...

So there's no passion in our woodwork
And our knots are bleeding true...

"Our Mother"
My brother, my sister, they couldn't comprehend...

A bottomless pit of unstable feelings-
that would be my stomach aching...

The pain shoots threw our hands
up our arms, gives us cold chills...

My pen has been stuck in the off position
moving across the paper, nothing comes out...