sther was born in Mile End where I stayed back in September
of 07, with my lover, at his half brothers shared house
that housed roughly about too many people for it's
smoke stained walls to hold.

And the carpet had tyre tracks that lead their way
out the back to a yard no larger than two king beds,
where a chair quietly sat,
wearing pennies like a hat displaying the change that can't be spent.

Esther married a man they had six kids,
six of them hers, five of them his.
Still he raised the other man's like she was his own.
And maybe it was curse for the sin before the birth,
is what my mother always heard Esther painfully say.

Cos Geraldine was the daughter of an American soldier,
and he never got to hold her,
she never heard his name. She never heard a thing at
all, she spoke in signs but how her voice roared when
her sister took her life and made five four, but not the first to go.

You see Pauline's body quickly wore down like my love
for London Town. The filthy tubes,
the hot underground and the welcome to London cold.
The bodegas on every street selling everything but
what I need. Just give me pills,
her pills weren't cheap, more a thief than a disease.

And as she's lying in her bed,
I hang a paper crane over her head.
Too young to know to the full extent just what is coming
next. And Esther's lying in that home with the stench
of neglect and memories gone,
saying Pauline isn't well can you keep your prayers with her.

But Esther doesn't have long to go,
so she goes in peace they don't let her know; your
daughter was buried a week ago,
and we're all broken but you won't be.
Esther was born in Mile End,
where I stayed back in September of 07 with my lover.