The Story of the Mother - Stephin Merritt

«Although my child has died,» the mother said

«That doesn’t make him permanently dead

I must petition Death for his return»

She made her way into the lands below

There was a rosebush there, where things don’t grow

It said, «You want your child?

Give me your blood»

And on a thorn

Her flesh was torn

That’s how rosebushes

Grow down there

So then she met this great big centipede

Who wanted something from her, it decreed

«You want to hold your child?

Give me your arms»

In lands beneath

They grow strange teeth

To tear your flesh

More painfully

But on she staggered and stumbled, for her baby’s sake

And found herself beside a talking lake

«You want to see your child?

Give me your eyes»

Which turned to pearls

And sank in swirls

Into liquid oblivion

In the form of a spider

Death hung there beside her

And kissed her

And made her his wife