i folded you in half at your spine
and pushed you as far as i could into the coals.
now you're back again with ashes in your eyes
and your skin full of holes.
i should have wrapped you in gasoline
and scattered you over Hell's half acre.
i'm not your tin soldier, and you're just another paper dancer.
fine print falls out of your mouth like broken bits of glass,
these ransom notes written in code are your latest fashion,
and i want nothing from you.