Each time I make my mother cry an



angel dies and falls from heaven



when the boy is still a worm it's hard to



learn the number seven



but when they get to you



it's the first thing that they do



each time I look outside



my mother dies, I feel my back is changing shape



when the worm consumes the boy it's never



considered rape



when they get to you



prick your finger it is done...



the moon has now eclipsed the sun...



the angel has spread its wings...



the time has come for bitter things...