Your Past is Calling

Through your screaming at me to "Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!"

while I try feebly to stand up for myself, to say how you treat me isn't love

I can hear my father screaming at my mother, "Shut the fuck up! Just-"

while he beat me on those green, wooden kitchen chairs out of bloodlust.

I fear the red string of fate making this a sick game of time telephone cup.