Wrinkles in the folds,
In all the lies we've told,
Come out like the life of a wound,
Where in the withered gasp and swoon,
Falling forward on the trip,
Born of my moments slip,
That gave birth to death,
If only I held my breath,
And never spoke of the words I knew,
That broke the wound and made me true.

I'd be sin,
Still within,
Washed away at the end of the night,
I am witness to this thing you fight.