No amount of water, no amount of soap
No amount of scrubbing with hygienic foam
Can clean me of my crimes,
So I indulge in wines
I drink the fire so clear and rank
To null the inner stank.

No amount of guilt, no amount of shame
No amount of planning in this God-forsaken game
Can free me from your hand,
You are like slippery sand
I think of us and all the fuss
that made me such a wuss.

No amount of wealth, no amount of fame
No amount of telling myself my past will be regained
Can stop me from my aim,
To clear my innocent name,
As the pain falls down on me
so heavy I can see