In the photo of my mother as a child
In the photo of the man
Who was condemned to die
We all likewise
In the treble bleeding from her ears that night
In the treble bleeding from
The only look of love
She could not hide
All my friends are dead
All my friends are dead
In the pages of the books that bare your voice
In the pages of the books
That are washed with loss and pain
Your wounded mind
At the loss of authorship of her own life
At the loss of access to
The last stacks where it might reside
She fights the urge to cry
All my friends are dead
All my friends are dead
You're making time
You've crossed a line
She's making signs
That will rip you heart apart