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Plainfieldleft with mother's disdainhave I done wrong? hid from this world's immorality I'm still unclean under the earth buried. laid to rest I discover.. I dig, I play, I make, new toys my designs have a certain realism authenticity I get my hands dirty... cut apart, stitch together under the moonlight my work must continue uninterrupted god I miss her so left with father's damned name and mother's rage brief moments of serenity deep in the grave waiting for night to blanket the earth and screen the eyes of the sinners while I operate my handiwork would be scorned she always warned me not to be trusting of outsiders return back home so I can redecorate skin over skin in my death museum would she be proud of her filthy boy? "hey ma.. look at me now!" "hello mommy.. you've come back to me is that really you? hell no! a blasphemous masquerade!" I know the difference between God's purest angel and one of Satan's sinners mother screams through me your blood is penance enough redeemed after bone turns to dust and there's the other one.. how could you crush the hopes of this poor simpleton? laughing hysterically at my own personal joke as you're bled out hanging upside down from a rope ...there's not much to do in Plainfield she will live on through me yes, forever and ever she'll live on through me... |