Mother Shell - Me And My Drummer

Holy, holy, holy

God we felt divine

Two outscretched arms a blessing

I remember well

Four cool walls were a person

A calcereous shell

The real flesh never could serve

Us children like those bricks

Echoes resonated from

The keepers of the house

Consequently they killed

Our real mother that day

And my children will tend to ask questions like

When are we gonna die?

My children will tend to ask questions like

When are we gonna die

And there’s no connection between

Giving birth to me and making me survive

Yes my children will tend to ask questions like

When are we going to die?

And there’s no connection between

Giving birth to me and making me survive

Broken broken broken

The pieces are alive