Stigmata
de Ötzi
Stigmata
Stigmata
There are holes in my hands
There are holes in my feet
Sitting on the fence
The old and the young
For your protection
I can’t move my hands
Climbing at all will cut them
Staring at the fence
They want to cage me
Incarcerate me
If I don’t climb
I will never ever
Escape this life
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