— Mother I was Unto you But speak to me Your brother’s name And cover the son Done to you The meek and mortal Mouth of shame An oracle orifice doomed to profess Solely the foleys of flesh at its purest A mirror of markers still etched in your chest Your own bloods' still swinging still makes you the jurist Ain’t nothing but a family thing The seeds of kin are sown and still I(’ll) Unblushing leave the harvest to spring For I can kill my own