Forgive me, mother, not
For the things I have done
For they were done with the purest of intentions
Forgive me, rather, please
For the things I intended to do
Yet failed to bring to full fruition

And if you think it so just
To incriminate me thus
For crimes I have no evidence of committing
Your punishment I will accept
Like sweet nectar on my lips
And I shall live forever buried
In the turmoil of my everlasting shame