Lyrics
Water running. Light gone thin. I keep scrubbing where the night got in. Sink full cold, sleeves rolled high, mirror won’t blink, and neither will I. House too quiet for a room this large, floorboards know what the carpet charged. She said, “Stand tall, let the cameras see,” smile like the crown came naturally. But the faucet coughs, and the pipes talk back, red-brown moon in the porcelain crack. I hear his breath in the hallway vent, hear my own name in the money I spent. Every handshake got a wet little shine, every gold ring leaves a circle of grime. I took the room. I took the chair. Now every shadow finds me there. I washed till the knuckles split, but the skin still keeps the shape of it. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. She walks barefoot where the candles lean, counting cracks in the marble seam. Talks to nobody with her eyes wide open, folds the air like a dress she’s broken. I say, “Come back,” but my voice comes late, caught in the throat of a locked estate. We wore power like a borrowed coat, now it hangs in the hall with a tightening rope. Friends turn soft when the rumors breathe, dogs don’t bark, they just show their teeth. I killed the music in the room for this, traded my name for a colder kiss. Now the drums downstairs sound far away, like dirt on wood, like debt to pay. I thought guilt would kneel and quit, but it learned my walk and copied it. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. No bell. No bird. No blessing at the door. Just a red thread crawling through the bathroom floor. No sleep. No crown. No morning in the glass. Just my wife in white with the whole night on her hands. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. Water running. Light gone thin. I keep scrubbing where the night got in.
Lyrics
Water running. Light gone thin. I keep scrubbing where the night got in. Sink full cold, sleeves rolled high, mirror won’t blink, and neither will I. House too quiet for a room this large, floorboards know what the carpet charged. She said, “Stand tall, let the cameras see,” smile like the crown came naturally. But the faucet coughs, and the pipes talk back, red-brown moon in the porcelain crack. I hear his breath in the hallway vent, hear my own name in the money I spent. Every handshake got a wet little shine, every gold ring leaves a circle of grime. I took the room. I took the chair. Now every shadow finds me there. I washed till the knuckles split, but the skin still keeps the shape of it. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. She walks barefoot where the candles lean, counting cracks in the marble seam. Talks to nobody with her eyes wide open, folds the air like a dress she’s broken. I say, “Come back,” but my voice comes late, caught in the throat of a locked estate. We wore power like a borrowed coat, now it hangs in the hall with a tightening rope. Friends turn soft when the rumors breathe, dogs don’t bark, they just show their teeth. I killed the music in the room for this, traded my name for a colder kiss. Now the drums downstairs sound far away, like dirt on wood, like debt to pay. I thought guilt would kneel and quit, but it learned my walk and copied it. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. No bell. No bird. No blessing at the door. Just a red thread crawling through the bathroom floor. No sleep. No crown. No morning in the glass. Just my wife in white with the whole night on her hands. This spot won’t wash. This stain won’t sleep. I got clean hands that cut too deep. Turn the water on. Let it run. Let it rush. This spot won’t wash. Water running. Light gone thin. I keep scrubbing where the night got in.
