Mother - Blind Melon

«The skies have darkened

And the seas have dried

Your honest ways have turned to lies

Your hands of promise

Turned to hands of pain

You take for granted the life that God create

The life that God created

The frost and flowers

Mother gave to you

The muffled whispers bleeding true

And it doesn’t matter how

What kind of eyes your looking through

Do you see our Mother’s dying?

Here’s a picture for you

I wanna paint this picture for you!

With every black choking for breath

And every inch closer to death

Her hands are held out for you

You said the reasons

We’re in the cities that we all made

Was that we rage our poor Mother

Poor Mother

Poor Mother

Now that she’s leaving

And she’s thrown off all that she gave

We dig the grave

Of our poor Mother!

The grass ain’t growing

In my front yard, no

Poor Mother

Poor Mother

Poor Mother