There's hope in your hands and a birthmark on your wrist

a birthmark that you wouldn't dare damage

it's cold, but I can see you out there

your cigarette ashes fall onto your shoes.

There's hope in my hair and a birthmark on my head

a birthmark I wouldn't dare show

my hair stays long

and my cigarette ashes fall onto the pavement.

I knew the very day you damaged your birthmark

I knew, even though your sleeve kept it hidden

the hope in your hands spilled onto your shoes

I shaved my head that day.