MB (as in Modern Baseball)

I am trying to wash the dirt off my hands but I'm not doing so well
I've been looking for direction but the signs keep pointing back to hell
I've been staring at every map
I've been looking towards every screen
I've been washing my hands all damn day I just gotta get them clean
Goddamn it, unclean

See I heard you've been doing fine, I heard you're wearing a little more black
You bought a pair of combat boots and finally got that cat
Maybe in these next few months I'll figure out how to get out of my head
I'll be better 'cause I knew you, and you'll be better without me instead
Maybe in 8 months, maybe 18, I'll run into you at the bar
I'll say I'm here with someone else, you'll say I've gotta get to my car
I'll take a shot, you'll run for cover, nights will come to our separate ends
We might run into each other but it's ok baby we don't gotta be friends

Lately I keep catching myself scratching my head and clutching my chest
Can't tell if I think my mind is right, can't seem to catch my breath
I've been talking through the colors
I've been pointing each one out
It helps to dampen the noise inside my head, yea I'm starting to figure it out
See just last week I opened up a book, pointed my finger at the page
As I sat there with my eyes closed I decided that's how they'll stay
I closed the book, I stood up, and I stopped waiting for your call
Because the point was never the pointing, it was the choice to point at all