The sins of the father
take me farther away
from what I never knew
However tall I grew
by example I learned
the rules of how to cope
Except the drugs and dope
in high school wasn't cool
but I'm not here to teach
Sugarcoat my own path
take a bath in my tub
I've run miles in dad's shoes
Indeed the blues will save
your soul if you listen
and play for the devil
Nothing pricks the Lord's ears
like songs about meeting
Old Nick at the crossroads
See I don't write to mince
words change your point of view
your past your perspective
Obviously defines
the trail you blaze which way
forward requires some rope
For pulling my sorry
ass out of the quicksand
if in your heart you search
Take a moment to look
at this pathetic shell
this man I've come to hate
Hope you don't mind the beans
I spill across the floor
in the kitchen I fill
Each gap between the tiles
where the grout's gone missing
like gold teeth or black toads
Father wasn't a bad
person he was a good
man who wanted to live
Ask me if my childhood
was better with a dad
who beat me out of rage
That I won't ever say
to posit the unreal
as possible is lies
However as I learn
to write fiction the lies
redesign the blank slate
Every child who grows old
to fifty or beyond
looks back upon the stage
Relics of the Old Globe
where actors play their part
even as morbid flies
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