Mother Emily

(Литературная адаптация стихотворения "Роза")

Her name’s Emily,
She takes it heavily,
Flowers at her shin,
A bottle of gin.
The boy was her son;
Still and all, she is her son’s mother—
War has it this way and never the other.

Her name’s Emily,
Indebted heavenly,
Beholden to God
For all that she’s got.
She takes it to heart,
She takes it too hard.

Though they say, “Take it easy”,
As though Emily sees it—
“Your son’s in a better place”, she don’t believe it
‘Cause all that’s left of ‘im
Is this underground coffin.

Now, she may not believe it
But she’ll learn to live with it.
Failed to spare her son’s life,
God’ll instead deign her mercy,
He’ll be by her side;
She will, too, vice versa.

Her name’s Emily,
Ripped off her family,
Off the flowers are waved,
Gin soaks into the grave.
The boy was her son;
Still and all, she is her son’s mother—
God had it this way; oh, why not the other?

She’ll come to His citadel.
In it, of truth rings a bell.
And she’ll sure as hell pray,
What else has she got?!
O dear, o precious,
O mother-fucking God!


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