Karen Bassey's "Scar" reads like a eulogy for a man undone by love. The speaker announces that "the conscious man is dead," buried alive in a grave he dug himself. The word "brutally" makes clear this wasn't gentle: he chose love, and love swallowed him. The woman, we're told, "engulfed" everything about him, so there was nothing of his old self left to hold onto.
The speaker sounds regretful and a little bitter. The repeated "If he had known" builds like a sigh, listing small, happy things he did, like dancing and singing in the rain, that now look like warning signs he ignored. The final line lands the hardest: she told him not to love, and he didn't listen. The mood is sombre and reflective, with a sting of hindsight. The title suggests the damage doesn't disappear. It stays on him, healed over but visible, a permanent mark of a choice he can't undo.