I hear the wine flowing and the glasses chink
as you miss the table and hit the sink.
Mother and daughter addictions together
thrown in the garden whatever the weather.
You talk above the same old songs, and I wonder
if you know that your behavouir is wrong
or that there’s a rat in your kitchen running a mock
it’s a matter of time, tick fucking tock.
As predictable as the sun that moves the dial
smeared face and blood shot eyes is your style.
Mother dearest your spirit is broke
I saw this in your face the moment we spoke.
Fuck this and fuck that ‘cos the world is so screwed
but you never consider that the problem starts with you.
Ten green bottles sitting on the wall
every single night I hear them fall.
A knock at the door and the bed springs go
Daughter dearest, do you think we don’t know?
You sing as it moves to cover the sound
to hide the white powder, another round?
Your a tight knit unit all full of love
broken souls that are fucked up and stuff.
Excited greetings and laughing galore
filling the glasses who wants more?
Voices go up voices go down
I can actually hear when you’re wearing your frown.
The music begins and everyone sings
till the spiteful tongue brings out its sting.
Tears are falling and the mask no longer fits
true colours shining none of you give a shit.
The lamp is broke, the glasses shattered
not that any that truly mattered.
You scream you push, so much pressure
you lose the very thing you pretend to treasure.
Flashing lights and a friendly face
an easy call for them to trace,
again today, again tomorrow
mother and daughter full of so much sorrow.
Karen Hayward ©2015