| Only a fool can deny |
| That we pay for past sins |
| And though we may try |
| To cleanse our soul; to rinse |
| Away our guilt and fear |
| To ease the hurt and pain |
| The sun to shine ever clear |
| After a storm of rain |
| It eats away at our hearts |
| And racks our cluttered minds |
| Tearing out our inward parts |
| Leaving only, we find, |
| The mere dusty remains of our being |
| Scattered helpless on the floor |
| Till someone sweeps it away when cleaning |
| Carelessly losing us out the back door |
