An inquisition to toss you in your sleep:
My lovely I could see your feigns from here
I took my wallet but I meant to leave my keys
I cursed the wooden panels creaking screams

Oh, and you said, 'There's buried gold
And the tigers wait for us!'
Now the summer grass will move here
As they lick their chops for blood.

I left the beach house and I saw a thousand lights
A part of every shell that weathered waves
The moon in labor as it birthed a silver Earth
And all the while warring nervous saints