DESCRIPTION:
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Lyrics:
Maybe the day that she met mama
Her tiny fingers framed
Her face, in light it was so flawless
That she was a ghost

Ok, it's fine to hold her ransom
On her wedding day
Deflowered, reviled and tossed aside
It's useless anyway

I find your son dead in the alley
I find your friends decayed
I see sour grapes on the table
For all the guests to take

I'll run back home in the old man's slippers
And take the widest route
So I can see the west
And what animals I should shoot

Okay, I beat the beanbag open
The kids cried in their seats
Parenting, it just seems to hopeless
With the way they look at me

I find your son dead in the alley
I find your friends decayed
I see sour grapes on the table
For all the guests to take


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