If you think you knew me then, you don't know me now. As the ground rose up to meet me, I kissed your mouth. You wore your boredom like an armor, but I turned you out. And if that brought us to our knees, we're left all the way down. I'll prize my daddy's ring from my hand, and I made a bride. We grew a flower in the desert. We grew terrified. We were one, but one and the same. Something was lost somehow. And if you think you knew me then, you don't know me now. The planet's high above you, spawning houses of their own. You were dropped and hit the ground running, but they failed to lead you home. And if you think you knew me then, do you know me now? I drew a child inside a moon, justified myself. I stole the face of joy, the perfume of words. I atomized the boy within before he cut himself. You found the blood upon my clothes, and I washed them down. And if you think you knew me then, you don't know me now. There were children in the classroom, erected without a name. There were hornets in the heads of cattle, vibrated to the sound. You cried wolf, I tracked one down, and led it in. There were lambs, sure there was blood. There were songs to sing. You could just see the bone jut out, penetrate the skin. Did it dispel beyond all doubt, the mess we're in? You raised your head, I stared you down. You still don't know how. And if you think you knew me then, you don't know me now. I was happy since she ate it. I was satisfied.