I fell asleep listening to Interpol's Roland last night
my friend he's a butcher, he has sixteen knives
Roland was under me, over me. He moved in sudden, swift, rude shifts. Yet he held me like he would a child. He moved me to fill his gaps, I was his toy. He moved me to his pleasure, like you would accommodate a pillow under your neck. I complied, without giving it a second thought. His weight over me, his breath on my neck, was enough to keep me sedated, keep me under his motion.
he carries them all over the town at least he tries
He named his knives, he kept them next to the bed. Betsy was the prettiest one. I held her in my hands like a child would, admiring the clear, gleaming steel. She ended in a perfectly sharp point. Red steel, she was.
oh look it stopped snowing
my best friend's from Poland and um, he has a beard
Roland’s face was rough, weary. It stung when I touched his face. My hands left with small, precise cuts all over. He kissed me and my lips were torn, left rosy from the pain. I touched him nonetheless. I kissed him nonetheless.
but they caught him with his case in that public place
that is what we had feared
Roland remained on top of me, and the lights were suddenly turned off. His eyes were raped and no light remained in them. His pupils enlarged and he slowly turned his head, and smiled. Betsy shone.
he severed segments secretly, you like that?
I knew it as much as he did. His weight multiplied and I could not move. My skin turned cold and I was left with nothing but an agitated breathing inside of me. I could see the terror in my eyes reflect in his. Betsy shone.
he always had the time to speak with me I liked him for that
he severed segments so secretly, you like that?
Betsy's twisted steel cut through Roland's skin as a hot knife would through butter. Pretty, brilliant blood, dripped, dripped, dripped.
His flesh was cut open and bloomed, like a rose.
I slid out of under him, drenched.
Pretty, brilliant blood on my hands. Pretty, brilliant blood, so much I felt like saving it in a jar, so I could paint Roland in a mural, on the wall of my room.
he always took the time
he always took the time
I felt the slightest regret for Roland. I really appreciated the time he spent taking me down, I really appreciated the time he spent not talking to me.
But Betsy was oh so pretty.
The phrases in italics are lyrics from the song "Roland" performed by Interpol.
I should probably start sleeping with my headphones off.