Treasure Island

Albert Martin

Mary The Liar

They were those
Thoughts about the narrow road
That leads to China
A way to walk it down
Inside our minds

Mary still
Talks about that road
As she stands on the fields
Of the old California
But She's just lying
Even though she says she's not that kind

Mary says
There were serpents in those meadows
And for them she sighs
With their pretty skin
So coloured so mellow
There would have to say to Mary to
Stop her talking and swallow up her lies

They put a price
On my head
O but where was my glad
And how big how deep
Was the sadness that I had
When I was told that forever
I was going to sleep
On the deadly underground bed

My mother
Three mouths she fed
Never for the night
It was her bed
Until morning
She had to work
With the plow
With the hoe
With the fork
Until morning
She had to work
For our redemption
For our glad

Submitted: Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Edited: Friday, November 15, 2013

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