Wake Up!

This house is an ancient tomb.

Be warned.

Born in 1974

With the blood stains on the door.

This house is a monument

You see.

Erect in 1983

In memory of what you've done to me.

This house is a freight train

And it's mine.

Back in 1989

They found my body on the Morris–Essex line.

A cord, accord,

A car, a call.

The hospital said it would

Gladly repay it all.

I'm born, I'm bored,

I'm not at all.

This body needs an overhaul.

The blast from the cannon

Was more than they could take

And ever since that summer

They've been something of a flake.

We pray for them at dinner,

We pray for them at dawn,

We pray that when they grow up

That they'll be dead and gone.

We pray that they will pass us by

But they keep coming on.

Wake up!

I'm coming over.

Watch the way the milk has curdled in the cradle.

There's a rattle underneath the kitchen table.

We're ignoring it as best as we are able.

But the air in there is static and unstable.

There's a rapping at the door.