And pens and pen-knives take the blame
Crane my neck and scratch my name
But the ugly marks
Are worth the momentary gain
When I jab a sharpened object in
Choirs of angels seem to sing
Hymns of hate in memorandum
And you might say it's self-indulgent
You might say it's self-destructive
But you see it's more productive
Than if I were to be healthy
And sappy songs about sex and cheating
Bland accounts of two lovers meeting
Make me want to give mankind a beating
And as the skin rips off
I cherish the revolting thought
That even if I quit
There's not a chance in hell I'll stop
And anyone can see the signs
Mittens in the summertime
Thank you for your pity,
You are too kind.