Instrumental Hymn

As the cynical mother puts on a cyanide smile,
your body is vacuumed from her Hellish womb.
Tears cascade from her sore cried out eyes, so vile,
as the crow pecks at your soul it will soon consume.

An innocent is thrown into an unwanted pile of flesh.
An act of disposition is an act taken for granted.
Such heart, now hollow, resides beneath pale skin, lifeless,
rejected by a mother who refused to keep a seed she planted.

It is only but natural that you were born in a burial gown with a body exsanguinous.
Your tainted heart is a drug served on a silver platter. A love swallowed in high-doses.
An orchestra plays an instrumental hymn as you lay restless in a casket of black roses.
It is I, the Devil's angel, who whispers a morbid lullaby as your flesh decomposes.