Silent serpents slither on solid earth,
Watched by rasping ravens who click their rough beaks,
Who wait to be swallowed by the blanket of smog,
Mister, I’m waiting for your mischievous massacre,
Mother, may you not cry for me, for I don’t think I’ll be saved,
Preaching friends who pick and partake in the party,
Will judge and wish me away to wither without grace,
And I’m waiting to be whisked away to be whole,
So Mister, may you make me your Malice in your wonderland,
Mother, may you not cry for me, for I think this will all be just a dream,
And come tomorrow to include me in the tally of his sex count,
Oh Mother, how could you not see the serpents in his sinister stare?
Hey Mister, how could you smile in this shy sleep as I shiver in this sickness?
And I stand here, transparent and troubled white in the terrible cold,
I'm lost in the transformation from the tear in this innocence,
Wondering how you did it to me and Mother didn’t, couldn't know.