Ice cream for breakfast
now that Mom's dead.
All my pants are napkins
now that Mom's dead.
Stay up as late as I want
now that Mom's dead.

Nah, can't do it.
She's gone on the outside,
but I can still hear the echos of her voice
on the inside.

The louder she gets
the more I know
I'm ******* up.

My guilt is a reminder
of what's a good or bad decision.

My guilt is my mother
slapping the back of my head
from the grave.

My sense of self worth,
my sense of what's right and wrong?
That's my mother saying she loves me
from the great beyond.