Screen doors and winter winds
The two don’t mix with the next of kin
Old mattress, oak drawers, loading the truck
With the memories of my father, what the fuck
Thirteen years, I haven’t felt such pain since
Punched in the gut, too naïve to wince
Away he drove and there we stood
Such hatred and malice, who knew he could,
Caught between the ages, yet most affected they say
Not too young, not too old, just right for the day
Alone in the eighth, into the ninth I was too
I grew up a man without one to guide me through
The long stretch we trekked every fortnight or two
To the western city where light never once shone through
They say we’re the same, in a way they’re right
For god, for country, and for love we fight
Yet when I gaze off into time not yet passed
My wife, my love, my life still in tact
For repeat I cannot that scene on the key
For it speared my soul and forever crucified me.
