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...