pulled the drag, and flicked the ashes into the bathwater head is ringing, with a peaceful television and a screaming step-daughter polishing his rifle with a cleaver charade caught the DJ between the eyes outside the nickel arcade I’m in the shadows, I trace your steps I sweat through you skin, and the moon is in my debt the sirens bite through your ears and you lock the door and hide down stairs your lines, they cannot be read almost alive and forever dead











