Each time I make my mother cry an
angel dies and falls from heaven
When the boy is still a worm it's hard
to learn the number seven

But when they get to you,
It's the first thing that they do

Each time I look outside, my mother dies,
I feel my back is changing shape
When the worm consumes the boy it's never
ever considered rape

When they get to you

Prick your finger it is done
The moon has now eclipsed the sun
The angel has spread its wings
The time has come for better things