Bones
Momma tried now beside my coma bed she looms
With her chapter colon verses she fills up the room
Such a crooked sad path that I now embrace the truth
As I try to beep the heart machine Morris1 [sic] out the proof
That there's a closet full of bones
And a bag of clothes in the shed
I’d confess the lives I stole
But for I'm now living dead
So my last pick was poor had no idea she could fight
In accord of plan so far from sound and sight
With my favorite ball-peen she got me in the head
10 to 1 ain't bad but I never woke again
1 Samuel Morse developed the original form of texting. The narrator here hasn’t read his Bible or much else.
Copyright American Sinner
