What red. How it covers my hands.
Whose pain have I taken away?
scrub and rinse, scrub and rinse-
But it never comes clean.
Now I wish it were my own,
But my pain still lingers.
Is this redness life? Fulfillment?
Are these hands apathy and greed?
What grey. How it covers my sky.
How many lies have I told?
cry and confess, cry and confess
But I never come clean.
My life now a series of traps :
Rigged with lies, set with self-condemnation.
Is this greyness doubt? Apprehension?
Is this sky all I could have been?
What black. How it covers my life.
When will it be light again?
pray and repent, pray and repent
And I always come clean.
Now, bright shines the light that lets me see,
Although my past still haunts.
Is this darkness sin? Depravity?
Is this life all I have to offer?