My mother is no mother.
For some time there is laughter, a tangible happiness runs through the air.
Day to day and everything is ok.
As the laughter fades the days grows dark, because, my mother is no mother.
What was bubbly, sarcastic, and even fantastic! is now rude, ungrateful, and hateful.
My mother is no mother.
The time has come; she feels it at the very core of her being. An internal
clock, tic tok, tic tok, tic tok and stop!
Calm before the storm, we wait. What more is there to be done?
Its world war three for about the thousandth time. Down to the bunker, also known as our room,
we'll wait out the storm. Call in for back up; it’s going to be a long night. We can leave, but what
about the others? Decisions we shouldn’t have to make. Decisions deciding others fate.
For, my mother is no mother.
I’m sorry, it’s ok. I love you, I know.
The peace is weak, how many times can you sign the same treaty?
Force a smile....look some light creeps back in.
But still, my mother is no mother.
Tentative at first, but then more secure. We laugh, we sing, we run, and we yell.
Simply for the sake of a hiatus in hostilities.
Even if, my mother is no mother.
Inside she knows she is lying. I'm sorry, are you? I love you, I don't care.
My mother is no mother.
How much more can I take?