Drop the head of the axe. Watch it split to the stump. I can't watch you wither. The rust spreads like disease. When the wood decays, it will be replaced. But it's a different piece. Always cut before, but the care was never there. To keep it pristine. It loses meaning. You dragged us in the dirt. You cracked. The seasons will bring the cold. We'll chop the lumber that will feed us through death. Fuel us through death. If it's not worth fixing, then it's not worth fucking saving. Just like my grandfather's axe. You are a piece worth replacing. When the wood decays, it will be replaced. But it's a different piece, it's a different beast.