Father Left Last Sunday

Heal me sweet father

Of the stings of a neglectful birth

Provide the ail to my black coal mind

Send me your son so he can lift my arms

Good man he is,

good man I want to be

But I still only get static and temptations

...

I'm full of fire and spitting nails

I'm cursing the books I gathered

Which was going to break first,

this love or my neck to the rope?

Never was mother's perfect son

But now even repent can't stop this bullet

Last thought is the gates I'll never see

...

As I come back to the past notes,

something reappears in my peripheral

It's that vision I thought I saw time ago

Never was the same without it

But can I be sure of the end?

I guess none of us can

I'll keep my wings on hold for now

...