Texty: Hey Rosetta. Raskolnikov.

a siren from somewhere floats through the wood of your door--
you break down, you offer a prayer, a prayer to the
feeling you get that collects like the dust in the corners
it's all around you.

"whose footsteps are these and why do they stop at my door?
a shadow behind me, i swear that i've seen him before"

"leave me alone
i already told you all that i know
won't you leave me alone
why did you come here why can't you find your way--"

home isn't safe but you can't run now that would be suicide
they can't not know, they can't know, you don't know but this isn't right

a moment's conclusion floats through a premise of blood,
proud and dissonant... here in the
feeling you get that forgets to give warning before it comes
to the dead and the innocent, in symbols it's:

"whose hands are these and why do they stare in such mad intent?
why can't i just be that little boy lost in the crowd again?"

"leave me alone
i already did, more than they could have done
leave me alone
but where did she come from? no-one was supposed to be--"

home isn't there unless the man who once lived there is still alive
you don't not know, you don't know, all you know is this isn't right.