Mother talks of losing to the bottle.
Father's gone, he didn't want to die.
Time has come to live within my bedroom,
In a bed who's sheets are full of lies.
Slip beneath my skin, the epidernim.
Drink my blood for kicks, it tastes so good.
Fill my head with empty praise for nothing.
Walk away, just like I knew you would.
Why should I be called your son, your daughter?
Why should we be peaceful, live to love?
You don't even know how I can holler.
Someday your ears will wretch with gore and blood.
You'll reach for me, you'll cry and pleed, and need me.
I'll walk away, a smile on my lips.
Mother will never question your departure.
She'll tucks me in, I'll get a good night kiss.
And when I wake, a child in my bedroom,
My blood my own, it surging as it should,
I'll listen to the rain outside my window.
I'll think of you, and smile, and know I'm good. |
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