You built a new home
Out of your old birthstone
You don't raise hell
You can't die well
You drew a new hand
Out of the discard pile
It's non-fiction
We're not lived in

'cause I made faces at the prophetess
Just to see my fortunes change
(Did it fix my fate?)
Should have replaced my temptation
With a lonelier faith

You dug your horns into the ground
And felt it flee reluctantly
Wish that could be the end of me

You simplified
Into sines and cosines
You're all blood cells
Shouting farewells
You made a harbor
Out of the old trenchline
It's all fiction
Inscriptions kindling in the kiln
But I've got envy for the arsonist
'cause there's always more to burn
(Is it still my turn?)
Must have misplaced my complexion
In the previous verse

You dug your horns into the ground
And felt it flee reluctantly
If all my heart was in your mouth
Could you bite down joyfully?
Wish that could be the end of me