This song is from my unfinished novel: Acacia--'Thorny'. I invented a goth band called Tremble and the Restless Dead, and this is one of their songs.

Sung by Tremble and the Restless dead.

The whine of the electronic keyboard is so subtle that, for the first few seconds, you aren't sure if you hear it or are imagining it. It gradually grows louder, from a mosquito hum to wind soughing through trees. It wanders up and down the scale in minor keys as it builds. At last the lyrics start. Tremble whispers the words.

Little baby, born too soon.
Maybe born too late.
How could God send you to
Such a world of hate?
Didn't he know that I
Cannot keep you safe?
Why did he trust me with
Such a tiny waif?

A wall of sound blasts out--thundering drums, howling guitars, and a bass line that could make the windows vibrate. Tremble's voice soars with it.

Nothing but pain,
Nothing but tears.
Can't give you up,
Can't keep you here.
Can't even feed you,
Milk has run dry.
Can't stop the pain in my head
when you cry...

The last word is drawn out in a screaming wail. Tremble has taken operatic training, and she has power. The music crashes, and she repeats the chorus. It dies down slowly. Tremble's voice grows soft, thoughtful, regretful, but chillingly calm.

Poor little baby,
Life is such hell.
Why should I force you
To live it as well?
Soft little pillow
on soft little face.
Call it a crib death,
with never a trace.
Mama will cry
when you are gone.
Sweet little baby,
I'm sending you home.