Isolating the cross-hatched memories
of those starless nights
when we searched for light
to pour through the wounds we carry around,
fashioned after and fawning,
we, now downward, fall.
A cast-iron bodice over the whimsical
has us chained to everything.
It’s been let in, so let it stay.

Put your mouth where rats have been.
Falling in and out of a sleepless dream,
on the wisp of some chromium tide;
mother of lies, and son of the queen.

So let it stay.
It's been let in, so let it stay.

With our old friends piled high,
and our pockets full of crippled knives,
we carve our own hell out of everything.
It’s been let in, so let it stay.

With empty hands,
and our mouths full of wilted knives,
we carve our old selves out of everything.
It’s been let in, so let it stay.

Blessed are the led
Blessed are the lame.

Put your mouth where rats have been.
Falling in and out of a sleepless dream,
on the wisp of some chromium tide;
mother of lies, and son of the queen.

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