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My dead mother lives inside my head
She’s not very big, but she’s not very dead.
She has a little way of feeding off my eyes
And just nudges me at night with the sound of her cries.
But she doesn’t make trouble in her little cocoon
And I’ve promised she can stay, I’ve promised her the moon
If she’s not there well what would I do
We’re so comfortable and cozy like a foot in a shoe.