Go to sleep my baby boy;
Momma’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Nod your head my precious boy—
Can I kiss you
before I go?
I’ve waited ten dark years
to see your face,
and now I know—
Momma’s been a sinner
and she’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Momma gripped the infant soul.
She clutched that child to her meager heart,
Hoping like a dying man in fever
To swallow salvation before his hour of going.
Then she heard the eerie angels singing—
The Man stepped out through the cloudy mantel.
She looked to Him and cried:
Oh Lord, please forgive me,
I’m an unwanted guest—
But I snuck in through a back door
And I’ve been to see my boy
before you send me on my way.
I’ve had a ten years’ wait
Since I’ve learned to love my baby,
Only let me stay,
Let me stay enough and be forgiven—
She descended, her back to the place
From which she had came
And the next of her days would be warmed
By the devil’s burly chortle,
By her midwife’s toil in the nursery of demons,
And the smoke from below,
Which rises through three worlds she’s seen
And scratches even the angels’ throats to coughing.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
Go to sleep my baby boy;
Momma’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Nod your head my precious boy—
Can I kiss you
before I go?
I’ve waited ten dark years
to see your face,
and now I know—
Momma’s been a sinner
and she’s only gonna be here
for a little while.
Momma gripped the infant soul.
She clutched that child to her meager heart,
Hoping like a dying man in fever
To swallow salvation before his hour of going.
Then she heard the eerie angels singing—
The Man stepped out through the cloudy mantel.
She looked to Him and cried:
Oh Lord, please forgive me,
I’m an unwanted guest—
But I snuck in through a back door
And I’ve been to see my boy
before you send me on my way.
I’ve had a ten years’ wait
Since I’ve learned to love my baby,
Only let me stay,
Let me stay enough and be forgiven—
She descended, her back to the place
From which she had came
And the next of her days would be warmed
By the devil’s burly chortle,
By her midwife’s toil in the nursery of demons,
And the smoke from below,
Which rises through three worlds she’s seen
And scratches even the angels’ throats to coughing.