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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.

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