Maybe This Time Next Year

Those taking care of you Sneek a cigarette On a side street Should I be angry I can't Its their job Like any other The most horrible job In the world Holding still A body already gone to god But as long as the skin Sits on your body You are still my Mum Waiting for us Smelling the secondary smoke Wishing You could just have That first draw You could now It wouldn't harm you It wouldn't make any difference We have so many questions Without a home Such is how death Spells out such torment The Summer is spilling out today I am so sad to see the sun I want it to pack up And go away Bring back the winters The winters are cold My body would fit in that sadness Wrap me up Bring me out Maybe this time next year