Bedtime, you’ve been living hell to me.
You’ve busted me ever since this child turned three.
I’ve seen her stall and I’ve seen her cry.
Every night I keep asking why.
Bedtime, I hate every minute of you.
You’ve cut me and you’ve scarred me through and through
And I’ll walk out a wiser, weaker woman;
Little Miss Toddler, you can’t understand.
Bedtime, there is so much good you could do
Do you think she’ll be sleeping when we’re through?
You bend my heart and mind and you warp my soul,
her desperate pleas turn my blood a little cold.
Bedtime, may you rot and burn in hell.
May this child sleep and may I live to tell.
May all the screaming not reach the neighborhood.
And may all my reasoning one day do some good.
Bedtime, I hate every minute of you.
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