Walking dead on two burned feet
Do you have anything left to say to me?
From barber chairs and baseball gloves
To calling names and slaps and drugs
From “son, you could have been someone”
To “hey there, meet my only son”
Lost in the mail for a convenient month
A graduation unattended
Five hundred miles, five hundred days
We'll never talk, let's count the ways we fake it
Over every break and you kick yourself for making this mistake…
Actions dismantle litigation
And I thought this would be easier for me
Another forced smile on vacation
Another disappointment paves itself into a two way street
And I see you inside myself
I want to climb out of my skin
I see you in myself every day
And once again, I was the worst mistake
Your connection to a thirty year hate
I tried hard not to believe it
I'll try harder to feel it
Here's to you, ya old bastard
