
Modified art from Harold Copping, Public domain.
Crimson sin, staining red;
Spotted soul, spiritually dead.
On the roadside, left to die,
Circling vultures in the sky.
Crimson sin, staining red;
Spotted soul, spiritually dead.
On the roadside, left to die,
Circling vultures in the sky.
Around my heart with anger, I built a hardened shell;
And planted thorns of bitterness to further guard it well.
Then sat in smug depression as the persons passing by,
Unable to ever reach me, no longer stopped to try.
Doing laundry is such a chore.
Sort the colors? I ask what for?
Then throwing whites with red and green,
I toss them all in the wash-machine.
But all my smugness turns to dread
When all the whites go tie-dye red!