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And, Shoot
Cool blades of a scissor are slicing the paper,
 The paper whom I love so dear
 This paper rests over the rock
 Stifling invisible tears
 The rock could crush the scissor,
 bring it to dust, 
 without a second thought.
 How lonely could it get,
 Without seeking revenge,
 Seeking only to be distraught? 
 This foolish game,
 This child’s play,
 Seems nothing far too grave.
 This silly place
 Will never change
 The rock will stand alone.

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