Blood on their hands
Blood awash over this land
They tie it up
So neat and clean.
The dot their Eyes 
And cross their tees
But don’t see
They can’t make it clean.

Oh. Out damn spot.
Scrub it away.
It won’t come off.
This is gonna follow us
Follow you til you believe
In ghosts and violent things.
Til the forest rises up to claim us.

She is bleeding out
In the parking lot.
Ain’t nobody gonna save her.
Coming home to an empty rocking chair and the receiving blanket that you gave her.

And there seems nothing I can do in the face of tragedy, over and over,
The same mistakes over and over.
Vanities of Vanity.
There is nothing to see that the sun won’t make clean.
I beat at my chest. Tear at my skin.
Hands over my ears. Eyes squeezed shut .
Nothing to say that gives it meaning.
Beyond this.