Find no excuses for me.
My goal is never to pander.
Forever in my crusade.
Nothing must be meaningful.
All meaning is revulsion.

The grain revulses the rasp.
Wherever the rasp may go.
And that is the purpose.
The grain is without choice.
The rasp is only the hand.
And that is why I hold it.

The file rescues from death.
What lay beneath its rubble.
The dust that rubs away.
The stain that’s in the grain.
The gloss that locks it in.
The rasp will come again.

Find no excuses for me.
I hold my every hand.
Forever in my crusade.
Nothing must be meaningful.
All meaning is revulsion.