Sharp were the knives that had cut deep
Cold came my mother like Cassandra telling me truths no one would believe,
Hard was his fall on his own sword they say,
Sad was the death but he had a price to pay.

Was my funeral my consolation prize?
I know what I once was leaves the world better off dead, dead, dead!
But couldn't your sympathy appeal some more
I beg, I beg, I beg.

Now I walk around softly haunting my mother to...