You left a mark on me that feels like a stain.
I know this ache and I know this pain.
I know these cuts and I know they kills.
Yet, when my heart beats, it isn't blood that spills.
I make my way through life avoiding the dark,
It's life that's damned me to this pitch-black mark.
Though being a righteous man is my solemn claim,
I find that it's the dirt that sticks despite my aim.
You left a mark on me that feels like a stain.
I know this ache and I know this pain.
I know that my hands have soiled far too much.
I know I'm afraid to reach; I've a filthy touch.
But when I look to you, it's to be cleansed
So that I may focus your light through my lens.
It is illuminated, but still hard to see
All of the dust, dirt, and rust covering me.
You left a mark on me that feels like a stain.
I know this ache and I know this pain.
With all this light I'm compelled to confess:
That there's something more beneath this mess.
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FOE Brett
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