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So much tragedy etched on her face |
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Now she sits alone in an old rocking chair, |
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And nobody cares, in the room at the top of the stairs |
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In her cupboard that's full of glass jars |
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Where she keeps the babies that |
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God wouldn't spare, |
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A secret they share. |
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Nobody knows that they're there |
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Antiques gathering dust, her grandfather's clock that has long since stopped |
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Like the visits from daughters who no longer care |
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She sits in her old rocking chair |
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So much tragedy etched on her face |
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Now she sits alone in an old rocking chair, |
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And nobody cares, in the room at the top of the stairs |
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And her ghost will return |
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And her ghost will return |
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And her ghost will return |
