Dear Mother,
We've all got bad days,
And I know you'll understand.

Where we open up a foreign door
With a pair of foreign hands.

Where we find ourselves alone at the foot
Of a pair of foreign stairs.
Dear Mother, you know how our bad days
Can catch us unawares.

Dear Mother, we've all got bad days,
and I hope that you'll agree
With a bottle filled up with Vicodin
And a child who looks just like me.
And a cellar that's as dark as winter's cold
(with a hole in the stone of the cold wall)

And a child like me who's hiding,
A child who can't hear your call.
There's a string that runs through our bad days,
And if you pull that string real tight,
The days all crumple together
And all that you see is night.

And the doorknob becomes your enemy,
And the window you see through a haze.
Dear Mother, I wish you could stand inside
And see all my bad days.

My bad days all got together
And they stood in a row for me,
And I plunged deep into the row,
And I couldn't hear and I couldn't see.

And I came out after thousands came
And thousands passed away.
Now I stand all alone at the foot of the stairs
And I wait for more bad days.

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