(Some religions think that the egg is the symbol of the soul.)
“Saints alive – I can’t believe my eyes,” is what Mama told me,
“Don’t you dare end up rotten, like the slime your father was until he died.” (Abba)
Father of mine, (Abba)
Father, (Abba)
Father. (Abba)
Cup of tea from a Gypsy: “Will you marry me?”
“I don’t love you,”
“You don’t have to; it’s his destiny,”
“Tell nobody, it’s our secret and I’ll be your man,”
Take the other cup that’s shaking in my mother’s hand.
And Abba dead as a pincey, though he held my hand,
I wouldn’t breathe when sleeping doctors couldn’t understand,
So the demons took me places children know as hell,
Until the Gypsy lady broke the spell that made me ill.
(product of witchcraft)
Gypsy woman ran an egg over my naked flesh, all the while mumbling something underneath her breath,
Cracked the egg in water, bloodied eyes looked over me,
While my mummy watched the demons dance so patiently.
