Your father is a furious man, but I seen him turn gold from empty hands.
He works his life away, he says, for me.
He takes what he wants and we let him.
We will bury her in a crowd of the lonliest people we can find.
We will help them dress in their Sunday best, wave their grief around like it’s some contest.
We will watch them weep themselves to death.
Will you cover her when you let her go, will you arm her with all the threats you know?
Will you cover her when you let her out, will you let her out to be with me?