Bonesaw.

Serrated intentions have a nasty sting,

But the scars hide under my skin.

Yes, I see behind the glare of your stare,

Spite has a way of looking through it's owner.

I have seen the inside,

but I'm no surgeon.

Bonesaw beside me,

This is your marrow,

I see you who are.

Weathered is no idea for the splinters left of your backbone,

Too bad we were riding on your shoulders.

The only true way to the top,

Is from the bottom.

Heart in your hands love,

This is my ascent to you,

to the way we live.

Twelve years heal with your care,

I am not my blood. 

True Father awaits,

To your hands,

I hold.