The Danger Of A Paper Cut

A paper cut! The danger which I sing,
Carelessly I greet this danger so awed;
I fear the terror that this may bring,
For I'm a fraud.

This deep laid cut that pained me so,
No more at peace so in anger I cry;
Take no prisoners in this war of woe,
Or die will I.

I tread through this cut pressed upon my skin,
I smile at the danger as gallant art;
My cut burns brightly from the paper thin,
But not my heart.

I face the paper and I face the pain,
I lift my head, danger is what I sing,
As my feet are set, I will not complain.
I'll fight this thing.

Around me on the battlefield of slice,
I see men fight and fail and crouch in pain;
But here I stand deeply cut twice,
The danger of mundane.