Out, damned spot!
Why, oh why? Must I perpetually fail?
Those snakes are always eating eachother’s tails.
I don’t need my fifteen minutes of fame;
I just don’t want another moment of shame, shame, shame.
“You’ve paid your dues, now ante up for your sins,”
that Good-Deed Gavel comes a-rappin’ again.
I’ve got that Bad Luck.
Out damned spot! Will my hands ne’er be clean?
My sins are a shadow; they follow me.
The dark don’t hide heinous history.
But name and face erase from my memory
with the drinkdrankdrunk and the smokejokesing
And these songs I can’t afford to give out for free.
I’ve got that Bad Luck.
When the fat cats feel like the skinny pups,
there’ll be sold out churches and empty pubs.
But I’ll be laughing at my favorite bar,
Singin’ “Hit me again, Wesley! The World is finally over!”
Still…there’s no resolution.
