She steps through phases like she's running from a fire
The whispers follow even when the grave is no longer hollow
And the fragments of a smile dangle, broken on desire
The throbbing heart, the weaker organ, is forced to swallow.
Mother, will you cradle her, until her breathing remains soft and deep
Stroke her hair until the sun comes up, bleeding through the white sheets
Mother, will you hold her hand, as she unfolds quiet promises for you to keep
Will you promise, on your own flesh, that the pain shall not defeat?
As the snow falls on my face, the ice crunches underneath me
To the floor I go, like silent portraits hanging up on rusty nails
Through all the sin I uttered, I never once thought I would have to plea
But here I am, on both knees, drinking in all that i have failed.
Mother, will you cradle me, for my bones lie here broken
Stroke the hair that i have left
And hold my withered, lifeless hand
For I am only a child.
Mother, I adore thee,
Stay with me until the sun comes up, because the whispers never leave.