Cursive – Pulse

I’ll never go back there don’t make me go back there

Now that God is an athiest

Finally, well i can sleep at night

In a hotel room

With holes in the curtains

I shivered as she slid up my leg

she could convince me

a hundred hail mary’s

she whispered “dear boy, your god is dead”

i’ll never go back there

don’t make me go back there

i–don’t–sleep–in this dead cold bed

in a hotel room

the color of her skin

holes in the drapes

spray beams of light

strangling lovers,

were we kidding each other

gasping for breath,

in poisonous lies

in a hotel room

(it was my second communion)

is that your blood cleansing my veins

if three little angels

(would peak in these curtains)

they’d whisper “dear boy, your mouth was too warm”

was too warm

was too warm