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She's over by my place as decoration
I preserved her face for inspiration
Flashlights from authorities
Lanterns brighten up the scene
Familiar faces of the long dead
The mad butcher goes bump in the night
And loneliness
It makes nights endless
The farm bathes in the thumping moonlight
It incubates my grief and madness
And sometimes
I end up with a deadache
I end up with a deadache
I can't feel myself I'm sinking deeper
Mother's not really gone, I'm dressing in her
Dusty musty shrine to ma
Board the door so she'll keep long
There's no way that she'll be leaving me
