southern bells (mama)

There is trouble in the dark folds of the clouds
There's a steady wind that's stirrin'
A foul chill from the southern 

There is death on the horizon, 
Hatred hangin' from the trees
People trying to be heard but
Being brought down on their
Hands and knees

There's a war that's spilling dark blood into the ground,
We tried to warn them with our words
But monsters swallowed up
the sound

Mama, mama, there is trouble, 
And we've hidden underground. 
The plague is ripe, the dead have grown 
And they are coming for us now

There is trouble, breeding ugly all around. 
We were soldiers in the war, 
Now we're six feet underground

Mama, know I'll always love you, 
I hope you see me when you sleep.
I keep your picture in my mind, 
I keep your memory
buried deep

~ A. L. Stippich

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