So tell me now Father, will I ever find grace?
Or will I toil my entire life away
Grovelling at the feet of mongrels for mercy by day
And being robbed of my innocence by twilight
My time hasn’t reached its dock
Father casted his pearls before swine
My tears have become for the world to mock
My lemons have ripened
Father came back for a gulp of the citrus vodka I made
He made the summer sky cry
The summer sky cried fire and brimstone.