Who would've known?
Who would've known?
Who would've known?
Who would've known?
Who would've known?
Who would've known?

To the lips of a failed writer
To crash a cup of wine
To throw a toast to an island that's slowly sinking

I can almost, hear you crying
Hear you crying
Momma, you are killing yourself
Momma, what can I do?
Momma, you are killing yourself
Momma, what can I do?

And I'll be the one putting pins into my fingertips
Only to erase the memories
And to laugh when I think what my father did

She sits
She waits
She toasts her prayers
Not speaks of them
She toasts her prayers
Not speaks of them
Momma, you are killing yourself
Momma, what can I do?
Momma, you are killing yourself
Momma, what can I do?

She sits
She waits
She sits
She waits