Wash it yourself

Hope is a fine cloth
wiping that window
Those eyes out to the world
Those lenses

Yes wash them
Be rich in thought and let that tickle your vision
Hope is like silk
such a commodity

When this glass that we see the world through is stained
and we´ve tried cleaning it but hope is as dirty as pain
Not a clean cloud of thought transpires from inside the glass
And tiresome habits and concerns pile up nasty

Oh how do we polish it when it´s so stained
even tears and elbow grease seem in vain
so force yourself to stare into the monday morning rain
but that doesn´t soothe the days and weeks of strain

Hope is a fine cloth
that accumulates filth so fast
and if you have no basin of hot water nearby
If no one offers soap

Wash it yourself or you´ll not cope
because not many really care if you fall
or if you float