When you take the train with grandma into town,
All dressed up neat with roses in your hand,
The world seems changed, a very different place.
You hope her face won’t mirror what you saw,
The things a child is never meant to see,
When you take the train with grandma into town.
You search the crowds and dread to see his face
And what he’d say to you, his child, unblemished,
All dressed up neat with roses in her hand.
Roses smell the same, though nothing’s sacred,
Mother’s broken like your father’s love,
Today your world’s a very different place.