Bones Momma tried now beside my coma bed she looms With her chapter colon verses she fills up the room Such a crooked sad path that I now embrace the truth As I try to  beep the heart machine Morris1 [sic] out the proof That there's a closet full of bones And a bag of clothes in the shed I’d confess the lives I stole But for I'm now living dead So my last pick was poor had no idea she could fight In accord of plan so far from sound and sight With my favorite ball-peen she got me in the head 10 to 1 ain't bad but I never woke again
1 Samuel Morse developed the original form of texting. The narrator here hasn’t read his Bible or much else.
Copyright American Sinner