I've insane rage inside it kills
O comfort me with Mother love
its wills will me to do self ills
i've insane rage inside it kills,

O Mother mine please hold me still
gently gentle me free from fear
i've insane rage inside it kills
O comfort me my Mother dear.

                             2

This rage will will me underground
dear gentle me with Mother love
down on Earth i am so hell bound
this rage will will me underground,

i might reach peace, deep underground
i'm teetering just one shove,
this rage will will me underground
dear gentle me with mother love.

                              3

I called you came, you comfort me
though rage still wills me underground
you gentled me to let it be
i called you came you comfort me,

those future years i feared, you see
i wasn't shoved i just jumped down
you called i came you comfort me
together now, deep underground.

A passing moon and empty silhouette
keep me company this early morn walk,
their quiet company, a silent vignette.
A passing moon and empty silhouette
embrace longing of this hopeful gazette,
yet bid adieu to my faint solo talk.
A passing moon and empty silhouette
keep me company this early morn walk.

For, Silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Clandestine promises she kept, not to get misconstrued,
When fear in believing people, strangled her to death,
For, silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Blind love and compassion she had bestowed with strewth,
On the one, who gave back false hopes with betrayal, all to feud,
For, Silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Clandestine promises she kept, not to get misconstrued.

It’s Easter in Coronaland;

The empty malls hold silent air.

There’s paranoia on demand

For Easter in Coronaland.

The baby chickens make their stand;

And pastel rabbit eggs declare:

It’s Easter in Coronaland

In empty malls of silent air.

Scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch;
today, I really need to wash my hair.
Dry shampoo does little to tame the twitch,
scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch.
No plans mean no washing days to switch –
it’s not like I am going to go anywhere.
Scratch-scratch-scratch the effing itch.
Today, I really need to wash my hair.

It seems your face still makes me smile,
Despite the things that you have done,
I've endured your cuts, I've stood your trial,
And yet your face still makes me smile

When we first met, my heart was won,
And even though you drowned our son,
It seems your face still makes me smile,
Despite the things that you have done.