To Hell With Dylan Thomas

God fuck it, Mother, but you've got balls to say (Some see it as acceptance, some as thin-disguised elation) That it was better this way, how he just slipped away. Oh you're right Mother, why suffer just to stay Some few unlived days more, to no end but your privation -- God fuck it, Mother, but you've got balls to say. But how to fight with time stopped still, a year of pain in every day? What use us now the drunk scribe's fierce exhortation? It's better this way, to slowly slip away. For what ripened deaths were ever held off by that too-quoted lay? It better serves Generals, holding killers at their station -- And god fuck it, Mother, so you've the balls to say. You said it too when Father in his sleep no longer held dark at bay: (Oh, we all knew how he welcomed his sweet cessation!) Yes, better that way -- how he just slipped away. And now my room of tubes is growing dimmer every day -- Yes I'm slipping Mother, I'm slipping away to my damnation. God fuck it, Mother, but you've got balls to say That it was better this way, how he just slipped away.