Of the things that have made me, i count myself lucky*
I consider it fortune for things like how i wasn't taught at a young age
To respect my elders. i thank goodness for my absence of a father.
He could have taken me out. we'd have gone camping.
I could have learned to wield my body as a weapon.
These are things that i won't be missing.
I remember sitting in the car with my dirty old man
As he explained how "she had asked for it," and how "it was her fault."
I'm only glad i didn't take the bait.
I remember telling my mother. it was the last time i saw my father.
No regrets for what else I've been missing.
Because I'm not jealous of a well adjusted family,
Only killing time until they learn their anomaly
Don't help the wounded ones,
The children all of vengeful fathers.
When everyone i know's still standing in the shadows
Of the men who left their mark, i'd rather be left in the dark.
And if our fathers were our role models for god and they failed us,
What does that tell us about our supposed omnipotent savior?
Except: we're all born to fiction, daily recreated.
We play the roles from the stories we learned as kids.
Who bends down who plays god, is it fated
That every boy on this earth should have his head stuck up his ass?
We're all just like our dads. we keep learning the same shit again.
And i wonder how long till it ends.
Well i remember when my dirty old man told me how i'd grow up
To be just like him when i got old.
What a bizarre thing to be told.