Why do you mock me so?
my Mother is hooked up to some respirator,
My father is hooked up on heroine,
And you find it amusing to let me watch
this charade of, what is supposed to be your idea
of a fruitful life.
A son, her son, her husband, his wife
you sit in your heaven comfortably,
takes her life.
Creator! I call you out this moment,
can you even hear me?
can you even listen to these words, oh glorious one?
where was your mercy?
for your own son.
Have I not been truthful? Have I not been kind,
yet you let the bad ones see
and leave the good ones blind.
Leave her behind! take me, can't you see?
the animal that I am, my sinful fee
Oh Lord, dearest Lord, if she must go
lead her to a better place,
somewhere far from what you call heaven,
somewhere far from what you call hell.
So she may dwell, in a place of fairness.
the virtues you promised
as you smile from above.
You find me cold? do you find me a traitor?
how can I then betray, dear God,
a hypocrite curator?
Forget this prayer, yeah just let it be.
my mind is already free, and free and free,
what to pick for my mothers funeral dress?
a teal blue, to show her sincerity, perhaps
plain black, to show the tragedy of it all? maybe.
I was her baby...
Did you think of that? no, guess it slipped your mind,
omnipotent one, confident and humorous one,
in our day to day grind.
Goodbye to an angel, hello to a slave
just behave, there is no turning back,
just darkness, turns black, roses stack...
...on a grave.