It was a cold and dusty time of the year.
Night time fell. I’d already gotten my fair share of whoopings
Because I was a naughty little kid, a little baby made such a ruckus,
Our eardrums couldn’t handle.
I didn’t see it, I don’t remember much.

I should have known her heart couldn’t take it.
A husband who has no guarantee of coming back in one piece.
Arguments always erupted over his obsession
With the dangerous elixir of courage.

I should have seen it, her heart couldn’t handle this.
The last quarter of the night, sirens and wailing
Wake a naughty boy from sleep. In his mind, like a superhero,
A distressed civilian in need of saving.
Unfortunately he arrived too late.

A beeping machining searching for signs of life,
A room full of people whispering amongst each other.
A wailing man over the mountain of blankets.
The husband with no guarantee of safe return, returned too late.
Her heart couldn’t take it, I didn’t see it.
After all what does a seven year old know.
But after all that, Mother’s Day lost all meaning,
‘Cause my mother left me the day before