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 the 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