The story
She keeps scrubbing what the house keeps staining.
She stands at the washer with a basket of damp clothes and a smell she cannot beat, chasing black mold in the seams while the man-child stays elsewhere, leaving her to the chores that keep growing back. Every load comes out with the same damp stain of neglect, and the house feels like it is winning.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.