But my hands are so dirty, baby, sticky ancient filth and fresh fresh hot mess. I’ve got DNA I don’t recall under each of my nails all fucked in with the mud and shit. Streaks of hell and high water stains crawling up my wrists like desperate beggars looking for better real estate- Even my mistakes can’t stand me. Bruised knuckles calloused from dragging the grind, still knocking up sparks into innocent windows. I told you, man, I tried to let go but the shrapnel in my bones started pulling new holes, a new jones, several mouths and a black hole. What the fuck have we done to me now?