The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.
There is a burn and a sting that no amount of debriding will remove.
Twenty years of sliding down a dead end street,
And I am left raw and road weary at the end of it all.

And where do I go from here?  Where do I go?
Do I pick up the scraps of my worn down soul
And hobble back the way I came?

It is travelling in reverse, and my soul ****** well knows it.

I wonder why I wore the leather armor, and not the metal, not the metal?

I was a strong woman, and he was a troubled man.
And in that moment of unselfish confusion,  
He put on the maille, and I was pleased.

It was travelling in reverse,
And I ****** well knew it;
I ****** well knew.

The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.