The stain

A dilapidated house like the mind of a simpleton misused
As he returns from a place that exists only in the news

He washes his hands thirty times a day
He breaks all the mirrors and sleeps wide awake
With chemicals to take the guilt away

Paralyzed and dull from a nightmare of violent noise
Now there's silence, and for the first time he can hear his own voice

But wasn't I authorized?
Have I not been absolved?
The guilt is only shared but not a bit dissolved!

There's no excuse!