knife

The negative impulse of self impression
These metal pieces that fits under our arms
And make it go as well as we want to go along
As if there's nothing left to do but to connect
And express what's in your head until
Nobody is going places
Nobody's got their souls
They've got you, inside them
And it feels like you want them too
Just another tool to use
Another knife over the board
There's the one who uses them to kill
And the ones who just don't want to.