Klorva knew that what she said
were words that she might soon regret as poisonous.
Keep the peace and keep the faith,
Lovers never to equate a poison lust.
Bound by the child, she’s gripping, screaming,
Her raw breast feeding
The curse she’s passing is not her own.
Hush child, remember this feeling,
There’s time while the world is bleeding.
Your father’s dead drunk and sleeping,
And Klorva is whispering, pleading,
“Be the best.”
Got to be the best, you will beat the rest,
got to be the best and you’ll grow up alone.
And in meanwhile, down in the basement,
Klorva hides the scars.
The lies: her armour against society’s eyes.
Those judging eyes, those prying eyes.
There’s a sigh that makes it’s way deep from inside.
There’s a moment desperately cast in the light.
As the door creaks, revealing a cold silhouette.
You can smell it on his breath
And with that sigh, the child seems to cry, “Mother, help me, please...”