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Susan Smith
wych elm
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A mother smothers her baby
With a pillow
Living in an old house
With boarded up windows
A victim buried in
A fetal position
A mother left behind a letter
She had written
I wonder who I'd be
If all these bad things
Didn't happen to me
I must be
The Virgin Mary
To create a son
Who will suffer so much
Her body was found
Under a bridge
She was recognised
As Susan Smith
Found her rusty car
At the botton of a lake
Her children's bodies inside
But their souls in Heaven
Why'd you do this to me
I was your baby
You made me
You made me
You made me
You made me
You made me
You made me
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