Years of washing,
yet the stains won't fade;
       Washboard worn,
  My fingers,
        Bleed.
A cleansing of my soul,
  is maybe what I need.

     Bits of metal,
  chips of wood;
years of washing,
    yet still,
   misunderstood...

  Years of washing,
   Yet the Stains won't fade;
       Alone, unclean;
Feeling betrayed...

     Years of washing,
    the Stains,
      won't fade;
Ready for the reaper,
    Suit, Tie,
          Decay...