The insistent whirr of the washing machine,
Cycling round and round,
Soapy water wiping away what remains of yesterday,

Striving to achieve perfection,
Through the shirt so white,
That no-one will notice the fake smile,
A pair of jeans that are glistening,
Absent of tear stains,

A washing machine that washes away the insecurities,
On the surface,
Cause no matter how hard you try,
Your insides won't go in,

You can't clean away your evening cry,
Or the voices driving you down,
Just got to cover, cover, cover,
Till there's nothing left to hide,

Till your insides have been grinded away,
With the insistent whirr of the washing machine