A lump of mortar made of mothers ash
In crowded cementary humble heft
Its porous surface darkened dealt tear splash
Among a million more that mould and cleft
And could your cannibals be born bereft?
It started first to poo old folk away
To fertilise the garden dead on deft
In smoky folk tales facts of misty gray
The population boomed or so youd say
The forests fired the orange oven bricks
And storied buildings rose in vast array
Above the waterways of saline mix
Engraved the meme if mum youre not to blame
I kiss the concrete cup one leg is lame
Chorus blame censure fault
