The water runs black off my hands
To keep my conscience clean
I search in the mirror for a good man
Not knowing what that means
My back twists and breaks
Bowing to time like a withered old tree
Deep and dark like an ancient lake
Thoughts yearning to be free
Dust falls off my knees with every step
Lines growing deeper across my face
I cling to what pride I’ve kept
Desperate for it all to stop in place
Haunted by the trickle of the sand
Dogged by the second hand’s ticking
When is it time to take a stand?
Are these the right battles I’ve been picking?
More and more of me is asked
As the years come faster and faster
Coats of paint stripped from a mask
Revealing life’s one true master
Is this the face that I’ve earned?
Have the scales balanced to find the just?
Is this the sum of all I’ve learned?
Am I destined to be more than dust?