Spawned of lust, raise me or bust, scatter what's left, it's only dust, shoulda' never fussed with the likes of me, you'd'a been free to ignore all but thee, just as you now strive to be, my scowling misplaced mother, Sterile and cold, withered and old, loath to be told, anything so bold, as what's for real, or 'bout how I feel, on how to heal the soul with zeal, my frowning multifarious mother, The fucking cunt shows a false front, she's forever on the hunt for someone to take the brunt of her bile and venom, and although I took some, I ain't too dumb, 'cause I spiked a thumb, to get the hell away from my grimacing malign mother, Just an empty shell, a dried up well, is that decay I smell, or maybe just a bell, tolling quite loud, anouncing you're dead, "finally," it said, "her books were in the red," what a worthless life she led, my distorted mediocre mother, Forgotten in a ditch, the useless bitch, made her pitch to the powers which would surely let her down, that spelled her doom, eternity in a tomb, neverending gloom, time to grab a broom and sweep away my caustically misanthropic mother, Memories of my hate still violate, it's hard to concentrate, perhaps it's fate, a drain on the brain, how can I explain, it seems so innane to be driven insane by my rapidly rotting mother, Abandon my mind, seek your own kind, you have no bind on how I'm inclined, or what I do, it's nothing new, after all, to you, won't I ever be through with my foul fucking mother.