My favorite flannel is grey
It has red and black stripes
And under the pocket
a bleach stain

I was wearing it when you told me
that you let go of that ****,
Unlike the sorrow, he left behind
Which stick around like the stain on my shirt

You were distraught and hurt
and after hearing you cry
Its as though that pain was mine

Simply because we are stained
Doesn't mean we are ruined
We just have to forget about it
Because you're still a great shirt