There is a silent one
A scalding still grief from within
A house of former logs
The drywall cracking like its skin
A shattered timecard clock
Left in the hallway starts to hiss at you alone, you feel confused
When the chiming time never hits
I’ve seen you walk it out
And I know what makes you twitch
A set of stab blab scabs
You only scratch to feel the itch
You’ve got a keloid scar
That you want out there, turning tricks
And you can only speak the truth, with the blood of God, on your lips

Your blue jean pocket has
A faded skoal-can scar on it
A halo on your ass
The only place that it could fit
At every curtain call
Hold for applause, smile, bow, and catch the roses
Holding them as proof
Of your finest hour
In this shit