MuhThugga

[sral]

"To Davis Weaver" (2010)

This is a follow-up to Rosebuds of June, my reaction to the slaying of two of my highschool friends and their mother at the hands of their father before he took his own life on June 4, 2005. Five years later, I tried to step back and try to find some form of an answer as to why he did it. I only found that the emotion is still there....

I’ll never forget the day
The clouds shrouded the sky
I’ll never forget the call
That delivered the news which
Mixed the rain with the music,
Composing a tragic tune that
Exposed the roses which
Had bloomed in raw emotion.

It’s been five years since Rosebuds,
Five years since your massacre
Where you sat in the back of church
Listening to the pastor’s words,
Rather than taking the Gospel,
You took your family home
And slaughtered them all afterwards.
Like, was this the plan at birth?
Did you hold you’re infant son
And say, “Mark my words:
Eighteen years from now
I’m going to kill you in your sleep?”
Did you show them the piece
Designated for the deed?
Did you recite your wedding vows
Before you gave it a squeeze?

The snake lurks in the mud,
The lion hunts in the grass
But be weary, kids,
For your father creeps at home.
The snake lurks in the mud,
The lion hunts in the grass
But be weary, kids,
For your father creeps at home.

And maybe you just
Didn't want to go alone
And leave your kids to
Fend without a father.
Perhaps you wanted death
Over a broken home,
Or maybe you felt this world
Had nothing left to offer.

And how I wish that Rosebuds
Didn’t have to be written,
And I wish that this pain
Didn’t have to exist, and
I wish that you didn’t
Keep your thoughts suppressed
And vented for a minute.
Just so you know,
I would have listened.
Instead you buried their
Love with a .38 snub;
Dissolved all their dreams
With a revolving guillotine.
Like, welcome to Nero’s house
For the mentally unstable
Where the nightstand
Contains your family’s betrayal.

The snake lurks in the mud,
The lion hunts in the grass
But be weary, kids,
For your father creeps at home.
The snake lurks in the mud,
The lion hunts in the grass
But be weary, kids,
For your father creeps at home.

And I‘d trade all my blessings
If it meant they would get
To hold their own future
In the palm of their hands
If it meant they would not
Get kissed by your revolver
The writing, the poetry…
I’d give it all up.

Momma never told me
There’d be days like this
Days like this… Days like this

Momma never told me
There’d be days like this
Days like this… Days like this

Momma never told me
There’d be days like this
Days like this… Days like this

Mom, you never told me.