There goes your mother and her plague What a terrible display Of a charcoaled tongue That wouldn’t lend a hand Though this dead was a thoughtless act With alcohol intact Quietly she seeks the day to pass With those stitches that you clean You hold your flag of your doleful plea Now there’s nothing left to recall A fruitless title bestowed Amongst someone you could never know In this plight of this dismay This thickness of your plague She’s a realm that’s lost her way