Out... damned spot... Out, I say! What, will these hands ne'er be clean? I wash them in the darkness, I wash them in my dreams. But every time I close my eyes, I see it start again. A crimson little memory that won't forget my name. Here's the smell... the smell of the blood still. it's in the air it's under my skin. I scrub until my fingers bleed but nothing disappears. The louder that I wash my hands, the louder that I hear— OUT, DAMNED SPOT! OUT, I SAY! Why won't you leave me? Why won't you fade? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? I washed... I pray... But the blood remains. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. I could drown it in roses I could bury it in sand. But every flower smells like murder, every shadow knows the truth. And every mirror in this room keeps staring back at me. Yet who would have thought the old woman to have had so much blood in her? So much... So much... Here's the smell of the blood still. Can you smell it? Can you hear it? It's here... It's here... It's here! OUT, DAMNED SPOT! OUT, I SAY! GET OUT! GET OUT! What, will these hands ne'er be clean? All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Here's the smell... the smell of the blood still! Out... damn spot... ...out... ```
