| Maybe the day that she met mama
|
| Her tiny fingers framed
|
| Her face, in light it was so flawless
|
| That she was a ghost
|
| Ok, it’s fine to hold her ransom
|
| On her wedding day
|
| Deflowered, reviled and tossed aside
|
| It’s useless anyway
|
| I find your son dead in the alley
|
| I find your friends decayed
|
| I see sour grapes on the table
|
| For all the guests to take
|
| I’ll run back home in the old man’s slippers
|
| And take the widest route
|
| So I can see the west
|
| And what animals i should shoot
|
| Okay, i beat the beanbag open
|
| The kids cried in their seats
|
| Parenting, it just seems to hopeless
|
| With the way they look at me
|
| I find your son dead in the alley
|
| I find your friends decayed
|
| I see sour grapes on the table
|
| For all the guests to take
|
| I find your son dead in the alley
|
| I find your friends decayed
|
| I see sour grapes on the table
|
| For all the guests to take |