Archive for April 16, 2011

The perfect mother

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So far everything is going well

The baby’s fed, the house is nice and clean

And no one knows about nor finds  the bottles

Behind the laundry in the  washing machine

As nobody will try to look for them, and bother

All is well and all is spotless clean

It is ten am and she is still unseen

She takes a second cup of gin

Let her day, her time begin

She is the perfect mother

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A mockery of life

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Death is a mockery of life

They who have lived it through, are dead

So what about death can be said

 It lingers in the living room after the funeral

 

They who have lived it through are dead

We do not speak of death too much

It lingers in the living room after the funeral

We try not to think about the lonely grave

 

We do not speak of death too much

It is always raining in the grave yard

We try not to think about the lonely grave

Where no one seems to be, but only was

 

It is always raining in the grave yard

Some flowers grow between the tombstones

As nature doesn’t care about it, live or death

Just carry on as usual

 

Some flowers grow between the tombstones

So what about death can be said

Just carry on as usual

Death is a mockery of life

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