The goal wasn’t always red.
Blood washed rewards,
dripping palms, oh lord have I sinned.
Those chains held me down
but now I’m free. I’ll let
these hands drip, I might wash
them tomorrow. I wouldn’t
count on it, I need this red
and I wear it like a wedding ring.
The goal use to be blue but then
the steel fell. I buried myself
on that lone night only to wake,
seeing red.
Saint's Muse 