I'm Feeling Icky Today

Do you wish you had something else you could do?

Lots of people do, but not as much as I.

I can’t go home yet; there’s still more residue.

//

The higher-ups are letting more trouble brew.

And every time, I watch them pretend to cry.

I wish I had another job I could do.

//

I clean up every red painting they drew.

Peeling the paint off, it gets more and more dry.

I still can’t go home; there’s yet more residue.

//

They always find someone to shift the blame to.

This time it’s my fault they’re letting people die.

Why isn’t there a different job for me to do?

//

Now this canvas is a disgusting red hue.

With every scrub, I hear another ghost cry.

Can I go home? I can’t clean this residue.

//

This one’s done, but there’s another in the queue.

There’s more to scrub, and I’m still the bad guy.

This job doesn’t run out of things for me to do.

I’m sorry, I can’t come home tonight. I love you.