Life's entirety - bled out across bed sheets
A soul as dense as my morning coffee, still in its infancy
She buried him beside the shed, beneath the Mulberry tree
Storks brought no bundles to any doorstep that Summer
For Winter murdered everything they had, and the next Autumn was very foreign

They named him Angelo, before or after - I am unsure
Mother Mary was there, ghostly floating above his head
The coffin didn't fit right, left it open
She couldn't take another foot to holy grounds thereafter
Not since God took away her son

She wrote it in a letter - before she bit the bullet
*"No Church, No Gods, No Masterpieces
This is sacrilegious"