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Artiste:
Pretty Things
Titre:
Come Home Momma
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With stiffened back, dressed in blackEnters doctor pessimism, no one called him.He sips his tea, demands his fee,Offers not one word of comfort to those grieving.Come home MommaYou know the old man is dying.Brothers, sisters,They stand around and they are crying.He takes his hat, snaps it backOn the empty head old LesterThought might save him.He snaps his purse, sends for the hearse,Then he's off to dance beneathBright mirrored ceilings.Come home Momma.It's such a bitch, when the ditchThat they're digging is for your old man to lie in.It grows so cold, when you're toldThat old Lester's house is sold;The mortgage closing.Come home Momma.