Guard

I wash 
The instruments of my work
In the sink
With the red
And the skin

Black magdalene afternoons

This is where he gets a little dusty
This is where I get a little eerie

In the first place I forgot 
In the second I tried to remember 

Trespass sings out in the middle of the night
You learn to run when the bombs stop falling

He could not have placed it any better
The powder falls like devils dust 
The clarity of 163

It's nothing
It's nothing
My eye pokes out the sky

I do not want to give you the stained cheque
Clean the mirror with my old sock
Make it shine
Clear as Jesus
Translucent in the water

Cold cut
Veins
Yellow painted on my head

My body may be tagged and buried
But I will never go between the white walls 
Not again

Hot
Cold
Travels up the brain

A little magic key
A little magic girl
Who writes herself in powders and in potions 

Tomorrow will be what it decides to be
We will keep guard of it
Ask for nothing more

Keep the instruments of our work clean

Black magdalene afternoons.