I have stains upon my person in the ink of sadness,
permanently marked on ruddy surface, worn so thin;
could you save me from these signs of madness,
can you wash them from my skin?
I have holes worn in my spirit from constantly rubbing against time;
no longer a contest, less than a race.
Could you replace the wasted hours, redraw the line,
can you wash this weariness from my face?
I still wear the striping from the cruelest of whippings,
as punishment for character that I somehow lacked.
I begin to lose my grip on worldly things;
can you erase this telltale striping from my back?
This she left me and thus cursed me, timeless vengeance;
left to weather sleepless nights, possessions scattered.
Replaying songs of how she left, wondering where she has been since,
as if this somehow even mattered.
I have her likeness seared on bone inside my skull, upon my brain.
Keeper of the sanity gate tips his hat, collects his toll.
The smile still haunts me, heart is ache side out again,
can you wash her from my soul?
Could you just let the fire consume me,
or can you wash her from my soul?