Premature Mourning

the sun has come up
but the sky is still black
the blood on my hands is dry
and the rain drips down the stained glass

there is no rest for the soul that still stands...
there is no retribution for the sins of my hands...

What are you crying for mother?
what are you crying for?
What are you crying for mother?
your son is already dead.
What are you crying for mother?
what are you crying for?
What are you rying for mother?
your son is already...

DEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
DEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!