A Son’s prayer
Spare one for you too
The son of a carpenter
Who’d only known love
Because he saw his mother
and his father stand beside each other
when he was failing.
The mom was wailing.
He’s all she had- or was going to have
Soon, when the dad-
Never mind, that’s too sad.
So the carpenter’s son
straightened his spine,
said he was fine and went for a run.
He’d met a girl
She was nice enough, and made his toes curl.
She was dark, in her skin.
But that’s only the begin-ing.
She could cook, but she never ate
Maybe too skinny-
he thought she looked great
anyway.
The truth is it’s because- she’d
Push away her plate,
Controlling her fate,
then she’d make the mistake of a huge gulp of whisky,
after all, it was a date-
they were bound to get frisky.
But she’d never stop
and he was afraid to ask,
when she took too much from the leather flask,
she thought it was fun
till it wasn’t- and then she’d get mad
coz it was done.
She’d fight him and spite him
‘till they had to turn the lights dim.
The next day he’d hold her hair
while she hurled in despair
until the feeling would dissipate.
Because he knew what to do
when someone was in that state.
But the carpenter’s son would never pout.
He’d kiss her on her mouth
and start to drive south up ‘til the hospital’s roundabout.
He’d put his head down, hiding a frown
at a world cruel, fueled with hate,
If he was stronger he’d call a duel
against the cards he was dealt
the day he was born.
So he’ll put on a country song
get the lyrics wrong, and take a hit off his bong.
Then the carpenter’s son
would say a little prayer-
For her, because that was fair,
and another for his father-
who sat in a chair, in pain,
while the poison seeped through his vein,
to fight the poison that had taken over his brain.
