There she will sit and nurse
Her "tiny little bag of bones"
Living for him and nothing else
And cursing her father’s heart of stone
His mouth, in her nipple; will always stuck
Reminding her a fun moment in her gone youth
Of a pleasurable "bed-game" that fell out of luck
Giving her the bag of bones as a lot
Her hope of greener days is now half
She wonders why her days are this hard
Being to her baby a father he never had
But wishing she had to advice; listened