On that day I first opened my eyes,
The fourth of June, the month you despise.
I saw the tears, your blubbering lies,
your hate-filled speech as you curse the skies.
I was your baby, innocent and pure,
You saw a demon and a need for cure.
So you yell and I plead,
You burn and I bleed.
Am I to blame for your lustless lives?
My birth not flowers, but a bed of knives?
You're in pain, I can see,
But please mom. Don't hurt me.