A stroll in-to a graveyard, to see O’ mother dear,
For her children by your side, to make the truth so plainly clear,
To dispel from their minds any creatures they’ve come to fear,
And to remind them of whence they came, of that woman you held so dear.

A fog of mist rolls over the grass, a shroud of grey creeps near,
Through the light of the night and the deathly calm an ugly omen sheers,

Mother’s not far from kings and princes, from Solomon and Lear,
Wherever you are, in the depths of your hearts, your Mother is always here.
Toward this Angel’s grave each stride and step, brings you no more near,
The flowers you bring will wither, though their meaning is forever clear.

Through the gates, the threshold broken—what is this I feel?
The warmth of her breast, her tender kiss, and the beauty of her form.
These things that hide within me, the burn of her unwanting scorn.

A dreadful cold running through my veins, my heart’s been long congealed,
Escaped from the memories I’ve thrown in-to a vault and sealed.
Those pains, they rise within me and pull a bitter tear.

To the forsaken row, that blinded angel and lonely plot you near,
And upon your soul there’s a hidden wound: self hate and festering fear,
Your heart within you begins to throb, if the children could only hear,
The wanton guilt you've stored away, oh this love you did not revere!

Oh God, will these open wounds forever remain unhealed?
Has my fate long ago been writ and has it since been sealed?
Am I to bear these tearing guilts, these sins that hurt me so?

Her grave is gray and crumbling, and neglect has begun to show.
Cowardice and fumbling words, oh how how you've sunk so low.
This epitaph to love long lost in yourself has come to be mirr’d,
Her memory has faded in a fog, and her love you’ve not revered,
It’s all come to fruition, all the wrongs you wrought and seeds you’ve sown.
Come to be set in stone, the truth evident in yourself that you’ll forever be alone.

In the skies and clouds it hath been written, and revealed,
I consumed the squandered love like a glutton at his meal,
Lord Almighty, my only friend, remove this cloud from above my head,
Give me the will to say these words that have gone so long unsaid!

The children wither before your eyes as you tell them how they've been lead,
It was but one offence, the transgression seemed but mere.
But the pleadings are not heard, for the dead, they cannot hear,
And the dead rise from their grave and toward your heart they leer.

A fog of mist, a shroud of grey envelopes those you hold most dear,
Hearts unbound and broken—O’ mother dear is really here.

“When the cries of those unfortunate souls do meet your virgin ears,”
“When their state is no longer prostrate and your gaze does meet their leers,”
“When your pores do pour the waters of worry calling up all your fears,”
“When upon your soul a stamp of black their decaying eye has seared,”
“When you realize that their horrible shoutings are not cries but jeers,”
“Know that those ancestral ghosts are merely a warning that it is your time that nears.”

“Remember to always respect and love your wife and mother, dears.”