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in the soft sunshine, in the soft morning light, there is the smell of new creation throughout the night. baby, oh baby of mine. let me feel your soft hands, let me know your small life and small plans. let me be the knife, and the strife, and the unbearable knowledge of that night. let me know you in your worst; let me be the wretched mirror in which you see yourself.
you can be the best i ever was, and i will be the most you'll ever know. mother and baby, oh baby and mother; were there ever two words so wonderfully synonymous, so spitefully opposite?
mama, let me feel your love resonate deep within that dark cavern of my origin. mama, let me understand pleasure so that i may better understand your pain.
mama says mary shoulda been the one resurrected; my mother mary, only a sweet fourteen, too young to know the weight of a mother's tough loving. mary, mary, mary, live again! i command you, take control of jesus’ baby hands and rise. let that devine bump be purely a product of satisfaction; let your body have excess for a change. let the bible tell the story of chronos-made-woman. swallow my baby, eat her up the way Brooks intended.
live deliciously, mama. cook with butter, eat one, two, or three plates, and leave room for another. mama, live so blissfully that when i arrive, i am the best dressed in the nursery; prideful purple robes encasing my perfectly plump body. mama, let me be the seven vices of your enjoyment of the world, so that i may bring forth the seven virtues of all that painful living. mama, let me know your pain so you can be a stranger to it once again.
mama, mirror me. me mirror, mama. oppose me, reinforce me. know me and don't understand me. i want that love, mama, two-fold there and unthere. let me be, forever, your wretched mirror of a daughter, and you, forever, my wretched mirror of a mother.
you can be the best i ever was, and i will be the most you'll ever know. mother and baby, oh baby and mother; were there ever two words so wonderfully synonymous, so spitefully opposite?
mama, let me feel your love resonate deep within that dark cavern of my origin. mama, let me understand pleasure so that i may better understand your pain.
mama says mary shoulda been the one resurrected; my mother mary, only a sweet fourteen, too young to know the weight of a mother's tough loving. mary, mary, mary, live again! i command you, take control of jesus’ baby hands and rise. let that devine bump be purely a product of satisfaction; let your body have excess for a change. let the bible tell the story of chronos-made-woman. swallow my baby, eat her up the way Brooks intended.
live deliciously, mama. cook with butter, eat one, two, or three plates, and leave room for another. mama, live so blissfully that when i arrive, i am the best dressed in the nursery; prideful purple robes encasing my perfectly plump body. mama, let me be the seven vices of your enjoyment of the world, so that i may bring forth the seven virtues of all that painful living. mama, let me know your pain so you can be a stranger to it once again.
mama, mirror me. me mirror, mama. oppose me, reinforce me. know me and don't understand me. i want that love, mama, two-fold there and unthere. let me be, forever, your wretched mirror of a daughter, and you, forever, my wretched mirror of a mother.
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