The Vanishing Mark

[Intro] [Verse 1] There was a mark upon my head, a shadow on the bone, A tiny mole upon my scalp that left me all alone. A man’s panic is a silent thing, it grows inside the dark, Every morning with the razor, I was tracing out that mark. I shook my head, I held my breath, I prayed the blade would slide, But you know the rules of gravity — there is no place to hide. The cold steel slipped, the red line came, a crimson little stain, A wave of terror in the mirror, washing through my brain. [Chorus] Oh, there is a house in Harlem, where the rising sun is cold! I patched the wound with plastic, to keep from growing old. A flesh-toned skin, a silent lie, it blended with the night, Invisible to every eye, beneath the bathroom light. An A-minor confession, a razor-blade design, The indicators fading on this broken head of mine! [Verse 2] I wore that patch, I cursed the scratch, I waited for the worst, Thinking that my lucky years were finally reversed. But when the fabric peeled away, the miracle was clear: The shadow left my lonely scalp, it managed to disappear! No more panic in the morning, no more terror in the blade, Just a clean and shiny surface where the vintage ghosts have faded. And now I sit with whisky, and I’m looking at the clock... If a mole can just vanish from a stone-cold rock... [Bridge] (The guitar arpeggio slows down. Only a single, pulsing analogue sub-bass and a хрустальный перебор африканской коры. The low baritone voice whispers with a warm, ironic smirk) Maybe next year... The wrinkles will go away? Maybe my body... Will turn back the clock today? [Low, growling chuckle] [Outro] I’m getting younger! (Ha!) No more shadows... The sun is rising in Harlem. (Fade out with a long, feedback-crying guitar note and a sharp, mechanical amplifier click into total silence)