The skin grows back
I´ve opened up a furnace especially
It was as hot as a volcanoes heart
The burns were superficial
Though the skin slipped off like art
Layers were blackened
almost destroyed
Concerns were slackened
it couldn´t burn joy
And as the red and black surface
came to my colour again
It´s true it could be alot worse
If i were any more vain.
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