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 k**ing 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 a**?
We're all just like our dads. we keep learning the same sh** 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