What is art
But a crying of the heart
To hear the words you cannot speak.
It is when we try
To voice the distant cry
When everything is dark and bleak.
It is when we draw
Upon the hidden sore
And show it to the waking world.
To show the hiding spark
Deep within your heart;
The torn, blistered, curled.
To feel the shove
Of unexpected love
That shreds your battered soul apart.
But no one hears
For they have not the ears
To hear the cry that is our art.
When I was born my mother had a plan
To raise me right to do the best I can.
She raised me up and covered me with joy
And told me when I was only just a boy
That when I was born she heard the Devil crying
‘Cause I’d grow to be the man to keep on trying.
The Devil tried to kill me as a child
And the fiery arrows burnt my meek and mild.
But my mother knew the Devil had no chance,
And she kept on teaching me the righteous dance.
Oh and there were times I’m sure she felt like dying
But she kept on teaching me to keep on trying.
Oh but what I’ve done has made my mother wail;
If they caught me I’d have ended up in gaol.
Lord only knows how far that I had fell —
And if there’s such a place, I ought to go to Hell.
I’ve had my chance and don’t deserve another;
But if I go to Hell, Lord, please don’t send my mother.
Late one night I was blind drunk in the bar,
But I walked outside and climbed into my car.
When she started up, I drove her through the night
With the lights turned off, the road was out of sight.
When I got back home I could hear my mother crying,
And I heard her voice once more to keep on trying.
But I didn’t listen to the words she said —
I was drinking hard and wishing I was dead.
Sometimes I finished passed-out on the lawn;
Couldn’t feel my legs as I waited for the dawn.
What my stomach couldn’t hold was around me lying
On the ground as I wished I would keep on trying.
What I’ve done has made my mother wail;
If they caught me I’d have ended up in gaol.
Lord only knows how far that I had fell —
And if there’s such a place, I ought to go to Hell.
Oh I’ve had my chance and don’t deserve another;
But if I go to Hell, Lord, please don’t send my mother.
Lord, please help me get out of this hole,
And help me as I try to clean my soul.
Oh what I’ve done has made my mother wail;
If they caught me I’d have ended up in gaol.
Lord only knows how far that I had fell —
And if there’s such a place, I ought to go to Hell.
I’ve had my chance and don’t deserve another;
But if I go to Hell, Lord, please don’t send my mother.
© Oves Tondente
Oves Tondente 