I only turned my head at KB
And he’s gone, gone—it is
Cruel to lose your son on
Christmas last year I gave my son
A BB gun and a game that I’d played as a girl all night long
Oh, how he scornful cried,
“I HATE THAT GAME I’LL NEVER PLAY IT
“AND SANTA SHOULD KNOW THAT I WANTED A TALKBOY!”
But now there’s no golden, glowing lights
Or green-red-whites or Christmas tree
I burned away all the things that remind me
Now I wade through the mall and the tantrums sing so sweet to me
Reality lost in a winter of wishing
And nobody’s perfect
I wish that the world would understand
But they’d never see it
That my son is the same as every single living
—Every man in the whole wide world is…
How could you turn your head on Friday?
When the black sky opened
You slew your son on
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