Born in an old farmhouse, my mother
I grew sad faced and lonely.
Vaccinations made me cry.
My daddy died. I was seven.
Didn’t realize the road ahead
carried hate and more death
in front than behind.
Ukulele, taught me some Eddie Vedder
fun for me, not Debbie
she wore her her fears bravely,
my fears, we cry at a thought of death.
Laying like a good corpse should,
good friends mostly dead
or morally decayed, but now
vaccinations no longer make me cry.