Psychotic

He contemplates the carving knife
Just as she gets in the shower  
His mother says to take her life  
At this late and dreary hour  
  
He gets into masquerade  
Wearing the maternal clothes  
Most restraint begins to fade  
As latent aggression grows  
   
But the beauty washes off her sins  
And he then withholds the blade  
His sense of decency begins  
As he mimics a motel maid  
   
He returns to mother dear  
And lays her on the ancient bed  
It has become precisely clear  
That she has, for years, been truly dead.