Pick up the phone
Blessed be the thief, disguised in skin
And blessed are the fingers that gesture him in

Paint the receiver, to the side of the fake
Lying at the bottom of the staircase
Broken elbows
And you’re coming through the window

And whoever called night a blanket
Had never the felt the cold
And whoever called the night a blanket

So use your fingers, darling
And tear away at the restraints they call the body
It’s the temporary things that rip us apart
For the body is but a piece of art, for you to tear to pieces

And to the night
Under the blanket, under the weight of the world
This is history to thievery

It’s the crying and the screaming
For the lying and the lack thereof
And I can feel the blood as it saturates your face

This is history to thievery
These are only games we play
This is history to thievery
These are only games we play
Hang up the phone