don't pick up the phone,
tell me that my voice is the
nails digging into your back
on a lonely saturday night
and you can't bear the pain anymore

don't hold my hand,
tell me that my iron grip
has crushed your heart for what
feels like the last time and
you can't wait to find out if it's true

don't answer the door,
tell me that the sight of me
spilling my guts on your porch
is a mess that you just can't
bring yourself to clean up this time