"I scratch your surface
Piece by piece you fall apart
I cut your wooden skin
The rinds cover the ground

Thiner and thiner you get
With each layer that I take
When I am done - Nothing will be left
And only shreds remain

You have lost your wooden skin
Slowly it turned to lifeless mess
From my grip you couldn’t escape
Razors made you bleed ever again

I turned your inside out
To see what lies beneath
More fibres of life were found
On the compost heap you now decease

That’s the way all pencils go
Becoming slighter day by day
Produced, bought, used and scratched
Slowly absorbed by dismay"