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I was born with a graphite soul
And a wooden body to cover
I have a head of stone
Which brightens the way of millions

The first tool a student grips
From where their life unfolds
They write with my head
As if I am a slave

My tattoos are left
Engraved on piles of sheets
Munching on pale paper
Stuck in this world, sharpened

But one day, I grow short
Replaced by a pen
To teach us we are useless
That your mistakes cannot be erased