Me and Mother Mary

Me and Mother Mary

It was Christmas Eve,

Snow falling on my face.

I went to an old church

Not far from my place.

There was a nativity scene

“When Christ was born.”

It was the most calming thing

I ever saw.

I looked not at the wise men,

Joseph or the baby.

The person who caught my eye was

The Mother Mary.

Her face was a story

Of life, truth and pain.

Her eyes stared into mine;

They screamed of hope without faith.

Were you the child,

Who asked no more?

Were you the child,

Pretty when you were born?

Were you the child,

Who thought you’d never die?

Who never used to think

Of pain and of strife?

You’ve got a child to feed

Back at home.

You had to do what you need.

You need to do what you know.

Mary, Mary,

Hair of gold.

Did you have a choice?

No one ever knows.

Mary, you offered yourself,

So willingly.

Mary, Mary,

Me and Mother Mary.

She’s finished with the Manger Scene.

She’s undressing herself.

She’s putting on her lipstick

For somebody else.

She drops her holy garments

Of royal blue.

She puts on black laced leather

And she’s walking to you.

She’s got a boy back home,

Her bastard child.

She works herself for him.

He is her life.

You hope he’ll be great.

You hope he’ll be smart.

You hope that one day,

He’ll even own a car.

She was swaying her curved hips

As she walked the streets.

Not the minding the pain

From her six inch heels.

And a car pulled over.

He asked “how much?”

She said “fifty a night.

A hundred for SM and such.”

She entered the car

Of the man with the dirty mouth.

She asked, “do you want a head,

Or do you wanna go all out?”

You followed him home,

You brazen girl.

Unafraid for your life.

Unafraid of the world.

He liked playing rough.

He beat her about.

It’s okay since he liked it

Till he came out loud.

She took the money and headed home

As she nursed her bruise.

She said “thank God it’s over.”

But she spoke too soon.

Her door was open.

And a mess inside.

Yet that’s not what scares her.

She only feared for her child.

He’s now fifteen;

Old enough to fend for himself.

Yet she feared for him each day.

Oh how it scared her to death.

She prayed for hope

As she cried out his name.

And that’s when she found him

Lying there dead.

You fell to your knees

And you held your baby tight.

And you bathed in his blood

As you cried and cried.

And that’s when a knife

Appeared before your eyes

And cut open your throat

And extinguished your life.

And there they lay; a bloody mess,

Mother and child.

Their faces spoke of stories,

Hopeful faith in their eyes.