Reaching into the closet 
She picked them all out. 
The blue, the white, 
The flowery and the polka dotted.

Thrown on the mattress 
They stared right at her 
The ghosts in her maternity frocks 
Cried for their kin.

One more chance, they begged 
One more to hurt 
To tie the hope of rope right around her weary neck 
And pull. She'd let them, 
Time and again.

Was the right one yet to come? 

Were the ones before all wrong? 
She'd tried everything 
Couldn't do it, no more.

The ghosts in her maternity frocks 
Burn them she will, this time
Into ashes that'll wipe away
Their kicks and little bumps.

The ghosts in her maternity frocks 
She bid them well, kissed 'em goodbye. 
To puddles of blood, and unlucky names
The ones who'd grown, if only for a few days 
And to the ones who'd never be due 
She bid them well this time.

High did she throw 
Her maternity frocks
Into the funeral pyre. 
Bright, did the flames burn them
Along with her little baby boy.