I made myself believe that my sweat could clean my hands. Now all I have to show are finger bones for what I was, and am. I buried my head here, it's somewhere scratched on, paper-thin. The thoughts that I so treasure: brittle and subject to weather.
Everything I've made, my perfect world, you far outweigh; so I let it go.
Tonight my pride is uncovered. My strength is pulling me under. I kneel by my prodigal brother.
I gave myself a day to break these chains, and yes, I failed. My weakness hides behind a courage that will fade in time. So I'll give myself away - strike no bargain, have no say, happy to have lost to saving grace.
Everything I've made, my perfect world, you far outweigh; so I let it go. So make this straw the last one, and I will run on home and be my father's son.