Blood on your hands if you seek to destroy love,
Blood on your hands when you turn from the truth above.
Blood on your hands if you crush the innocent soul,
For every wound you deepen takes its merciless toll.
The deeper you descend into the devil’s dark layer,
The stains sink in forever—no water can repair.
They cling like shadows, they mark what you’ve become,
A soul lost in the mire, forever on the run.
But if you crave the cleansing, the pure and healing stream,
To feel the water wash your sins and restore the dream
Then rise and right the wrongs that haunt your weary days,
Accept your bitter part, and walk the harder way.
Redemption calls in whispers, fierce and true and raw:
Mend what you have broken, untwist the twisted flaw.
For only through that courage can the heart be born again,
And blood-stained hands find mercy in the light of dawn’s amen.