|
|
""Who would've known? To the lips of a failed writer To crash a cup of wine To throw a toast to an island that's slowly sinking I can almost hear you Hear you crying Momma you are killing yourself Momma what can I do? And I'll be the one putting pins into my fingertips Only to erase the memories And to laugh when I think what my father did She sits She waits She toasts her prayers Not speaks of them Momma you are killing yourself Momma what can I do? She sits She waits""
|
|
