---

Who would of known?

To the lips of a failed writer.
To crash a cup of wine.
To throw a toast to an islan that's slowly sinking.

I can almost, hear you.
Hear you crying.
Momma you are killing yourself.
Momma what can I do?

And I'll be the one putting pins into my fingertips.
Only to erase the memories.
And to laugh when I think what my father did.

She sits,
She waits.
She toasts her prayers,
Not speaks of them.

Momma you are killing yourself.
Momma what can I do?

She sits,
She waits

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