Her remaining smoke darkened teeth
Formulated the wordings in my brains
Story of my birth on a drunken night
Remembered exactly in a liquor daze

And the cocoa girls she among
Were ill matched cast off within the scene
And when Papa sang Mama into a lonely hut
The bamboo beds cracked a tread of its note

And the gathering soon found a voice
Chorus to the song papa sang
The dark spot on the mat
Edited the tune of my conception

And now that I know the story
Lore impregnated upon a poetic vision
The fear of something lying in wait for me
Plays the distorted pattern on my authorship

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