9 June 2012
You're slipping through our fingers, Don't think there's anything we can do. I'm sure it's the end of the line this time, There's no way you can pull through.
Maybe if you'd listened To all of our advice You wouldn't be ebbing away At the cause of your costly vice. If only you'd have done what we'd said You'd be happy and well and alive, Just stuck to your flipping 800 mls a day It's not that hard if you try. If only you'd stopped smoking your brains out And put the lighters down This pain that we all feel inside, These constant tears and frowns, Would not be here, they'd be packed away In their solemn box. But now the furrows only deepen At the thought of impending loss.
You're going, we have to bid farewell And shield the youngest ones from the sorrow, We have to say our goodbyes tonight Because there mightn't be a tomorrow. We've had far to many close calls To have any more, There's no more chances to be had It's time to close the door. There's nothing to be done But choose the coffin wood, I'm not ready for that day to come, I thought it never would. I can hear the banshee keening, It's time to open up the pane And cover the looking glass So your soul it won't attain. The wailing's getting louder And she's got out her comb, It's time for me to go now And leave you two alone. A tear is sliding down my cheek At her mournful song's climax, You breath in some fresh clean air A breath that is your last. You sigh tumultuously And I see your soul expire, As the pain lifts from your chest And the banshee retires.
Just a shell, a pallid shell, The old woman I loved so And a new banshee is born in me As I tear apart my soul.
It's Time, Grandma • Opuss № I