Marionette

Six feet down the children play
In little boxes where they lay
All down on our knees, we pray
But those voices never go away
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Far above the mothers cry
Marionettes with plastic eyes
Their tears don't ever really dry
They don't ever really die
-
Fingernails against the stone
Digging right down to the bones
Those little bodies, all alone
Mother brings her children home
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She feeds them, bathes them, and she sighs
Precious moral alibis
Broken down, her children shy
Watching her with crooked eyes
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She cradles them in bleeding hands
Silent, so, by her command
She keeps her conversations bland
They would never understand
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In the light, she sits and cries
Washing clean her paradise
In her arms, they stay alive
And at night, she lets them die