You plug me in and turn me on. Turn on me. I am your device of manufactured hope. Manufactured hope. . You plug me in and turn me into wires and blood.
Slowly we peel away the layers. And the light seeps through the cracks. You whispered softly in my ear. "The birth of morning's upon us, dear". . The bandages feel upon the floor.
The telephone swallowed the child. This is the last time I say your name. The crackle and hiss from the walls. You smile like a catholic in heat. . Just don't forget what you've done.