Life Isn't a Dress Rehearsal
Up and down the stairs she goes
Nervous as hell cos it's getting close
"Get ready, quick," I hear him say
"Don't dilly dally, or we're gonna be late."
Black dress, black shoes, straightened hair
She's left us nothing, it's just not fair
Did she love us less, or not at all
That bastard gets everything, we get fuck all
No memento to remember our mother
No ring, no photo or any other
possession that we might've wanted
Before we could ask, her room was all sorted
and sent to the charity shop in cardboard boxes
I know she was ill, and couldn't help it
Her mind was deluded, and her heart was melted
by our other sibling who's a thief at best
He gave us the will before she was put to rest
That told us he got all of her stuff
All for him, nothing for us.
The funeral itself was very distressing,
I wondered, "Who is this woman in this coffin?"
Did I ever really know her or what made her tick?
She was a difficult woman, no doubt about it
But she was my mother, and I can't deny it
When I look in the mirror or a recent photo
she's always there looking right back at me.
Rest in peace, mum.